


Sins and Redemption

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Religious, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bible Quoting, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Force-feeding Sleeping Drugs, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Forbidden Love, Loosely Based on a Film, One Shot, Parishioner!Katniss, PiP Submission, Priest!Peeta, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious doubts, Struggling with Faith and Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Father Mellark has an uphill battle with his feelings of infatuation for one of his parishioners. The odds are not in his favor when she takes the post of Housekeeper of his Rectory, and he realizes his feelings are reciprocated by his employee. A tale of forbidden feelings ensues, shaking the Father's convictions to the ground.My submission to the very last tumblr challenge of Prompts in Panem: Final Tribute- The One that Got Away. This story has been sitting in my docs for a terribly long time, and only now I feel brave enough to post it. I might be over cautious about this with my tags, but one never knows. The story does have a very sweet ending; after all, the story of Everlark is one of Hope when everything seems lost and bleak, the hope that life goes on, no matter how bad the losses. Please proceed with caution.Fic revised and extended for AO3, plus a bonus scene added in this publication, originally taken out for length reduction purposes for PiP submission.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: THG doesn't belong to me, obviously, neither does the story "El Crimen del Padre Amaro".
> 
> This One Shot is very loosely based off the 2002 Mexican film “El Crimen del Padre Amaro (The Crime of Father Amaro)” which in turn is based on a 1875 Portuguese novel under the same- Albeit in Portuguese- title: “O Crime do Padre Amaro”; the ending of this work greatly differs from the source material to accomodate a HEA for Everlark.
> 
> That said, take heed to **WARNINGS/TRIGGERS** this story contains listed below, if you feel uncomfortable with any label listed at the top in the Tags section, I politely and respectfully request, you to step away from this fic. 
> 
> _Warning:_ If you're Catholic and easily offended, please click out of this fic. While I respect the religion deeply (my best friend and all my paternal family and my husband's maternal family are very devoted Catholics), this story centers on a priest lusting after a parishioner 9 years his junior. Please, I cannot stress enough how much I don't want anyone to feel offended here, but if you think you might find the topic off putting and decide to walk away from this story, I won't hold it against you. There are plenty things I refuse to read in fanfiction. You have a choice and I respect and support it. 
> 
> **Triggers:** Religious themes. A small-barely-there talk about Pedophilia. Faith doubts and struggles. Bible verse quoting. A couple sacrilegious comments involving Jesus (and maybe even Mary). Forbidden smut. Talk/attempted abortion. All views about abortion in this work are traditional catholic based notion, not trying to badger anyone if you are pro-choice, this isn't a pro-life fic but it's very rooted in the religious point of view. Few cuss words from priests. 
> 
> I have to apologize before hand for the many mistakes that fill this piece. It was a mammoth of a story to edit, and as usual I procrastinated too long to ask any of my talented friends to proofread it before the deadline was on top of me. I'm sorry. I own up to everything wrong. 
> 
> I'll expand background of fic at the end.
> 
> Bible verses quoted in italics. For where to find them in the Bible go to footnotes.

I slide open the divide of the confessional, and my breath hitches as the smell of pine cones and fresh rain on earth floods the small space. In all the world, only her, smells so lovely.

 

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." She says in a rush while hastily making the sign of the cross over herself.

 

I can only take a deep breath, sighing as quietly as I can. Protocol and tradition dictates the priest is supposed to be the first to talk, welcome the parishioners in and invite them to shed the burdens of their sins so the rite can be performed and sins would be forgiven, but as it usually happens with her, my mouth goes suddenly dry, my hands start sweating, my heartbeat spikes to startled rabbit speed and I struggle to keep myself from doing some inappropriately stupid, like swoon and sigh at her sight. Also as usual, she’s oblivious to my plight, which is for the best; as if she’s not even aware she’s blown off the orderly steps in the confessionary, she barrels in, not allowing a single word from me to be spoken.

 

She just starts talking, as if she can't bear to carry the burden of her humanity within her. It's frustrating dealing with the feelings she evokes, she has no idea the effect she has. She was here just the other day. How much could she had sinned since then? How big a sin could she have committed to require another visit to the confessional so close together? To be honest, I don't mind sitting here, listening to her voice at all, in fact, I'm thankful for the thick mesh separating us, it's actually very convenient to be hidden behind it and still be so close to her. I’m not scared of the shameless greed and hunger that fills my face when my eyes find her. I stopped fighting my feelings for her long ago, my only recourse now is concealing them. I gave up any pretenses of righteousness and purity as well, so with my face shaded away, I allow myself be as perverted as I truly am. I know it's wrong, and I do my penance every night, but, it's a losing battle when it comes to the way I feel about her.

 

“My last confession was two days, ago." She says in a breathy voice that makes me shut my eyes so I can better enjoy it. "I have taken The Lord's name in vain twice, I have reacted in anger towards my peers in more than that, I lied to my mother this morning, and… and,” she stops suddenly, her nervousness seeping through the silence and reaching me like a harsh shriek.

 

I’m about to encourage her to continue, but again I’m distracted by the way she repositions herself on the other side, squaring her shoulders, and then she’s talking again, a little embarrassed, “I have been having this... Sinful. Unclean. Lustful thoughts, lately."

 

She stops there, and I know the Devil has set this trap down to get me, because I can make out through the small openings of the divider, that she's wearing that temptation-from-hell red dress, with the V-neck that ends right where the valley between her small breast start and cinches her waist snugly, giving way to an ample skirt that accentuates the curve of her hips beautifully. Yes, this is the devil's work, and he's laughing at me, letting me know that I haven't fool him with my failed attempts at leading a pious life. He has me by the collar, and I hate him for it.

 

I shift uncomfortably on my bench, I try to rearrange my very inappropriate hard on, while also trying to regain some control over my ragged breathing. My first priority is shutting down my imagination that currently runs wild with the endless possibilities of what lustful thoughts has she entertained, desperately wishing I star each one of them. I don't have to reach far for a sobering thought though. I know it's not me she has impure thoughts about.

 

She's engaged to be married after all.

 

I clear my throat, and finally speak. "Well, it is normal to feel or think certain ways about your future spouse. Desiring for a more physical closeness with the one you chose, is not exactly a sin," I pause to swallow my bitterness harshly before I can get the next words out. "Unless you carry out with the actual act of fornication, which it's the real sin, you have nothing to be ashamed of, my child. Wanting a deeper relationship with your fiance is completely understandable, especially when your wedding day is at foot." I finish my bullshit speech, knowing full well I don't believe a word I've said, right now I'm hoping- praying, really- to almighty God, that she never confesses she went through with it and slept with her fiance. Knowing my luck, God doesn't care an iota for my double standards and will probably let her come to me with her full force once it happens. I'm dreading the day already. The day she finally weds. The knowledge that her man is fucking her, will kill me for sure.

 

"My fiance?” She snaps exasperated, but are her next words that almost cause me to choke on my own tongue. “Who said anything about my fiance? No, I don't have carnal thoughts about my future husband, not in the slightest," she spats with a finality, bordering on disgust, that takes me aback.

 

Gale Hawthorne, AKA the fiance, newly minted journalist whose father owns two out of four papers in the region of District Twelve, is a 6 feet mass of raw muscle and male rugged good looks, with a brooding disposition that almost qualifies him as a Bad Boy Heartthrob and wealthy enough to offer any woman a life of ease and luxury I could never afford for even myself. I'll never be able to compete with that! Not to mention he doesn't have to wear a cassock or a chaffy clerical collar everyday of his life, announcing votes of celibacy he's not being forced to uphold. No, she will be marrying him soon enough, bringing into reality each one of the sinful thoughts he surely is having about her, while I waste here, behind the confessional mesh, longing and pining after her, wanting so much I’m left miserable and hollow inside. Too bad for Gale, by her reaction, is not him she's been wanting lately, which begs the question: Who?

 

The words tumble out of my mouth stupidly, without allowing my brain to filter anything, "Then who is it that you are lusting after? If it's not your future husband, then who would you be contemplating damaging your virtue with, and risking condemnation for?" I wince when the last part comes out sharp and demanding, I can only hope she didn't catch the jealous undertones and the accusatory manner of the question.

 

"Well, if it was Gale, I wouldn't be here confessing my sins, begging for absolution because I'm scared to death that I will burn in the flames of hell for having this unholy thoughts!" She spats angrily. "I'm embarrassed enough as it is." She sounds small and troubled. I'm kicking myself for doing this to her.

 

I sigh, "Then, I apologize my child. I’m not trying to pass any judgement here, that's only for our Lord to do after all. All I want to do is help you any way I can. Please, don’t be embarrassed about anything you say in the protection of the confessional, whatever words you share here, they will remain here." I hope she perceives me as sincere, because I truly want to help her, I’m even bracing myself for whatever else she's going to say. If she gives me a name I won't have peace, if I have my way, this man would forever remain faceless and nameless, but I'll hear anything she has to confess and then, I'll absolve her from her sins, because I really want to help her.

 

"That's the problem!” She exclaims, seemingly mortified, “ _Our Lord!_ " She sighs deeply "I keep... I keep thinking about his eyes. They mesmerize me, so deep and pure and blue, and full of love and compassion. My mother has his portrait hanging on the living room wall, I like to look at it before going to bed so I can dream of the sweet blue eyes. Sometimes I feel like he's following me with his stare, and... I get all this funny, tingly feelings when I think about what would it be like to see him up close, in person, or what would it feel like to comb my fingers through his wavy light hair. I sometimes think of him while I'm in the shower, lathering my body with soap," Her voice had been dreamy the whole time, and I'm perplexed.

 

I blink a couple of times trying to undo the image she just planted into my head, but I’m instinctively sure I’ll never be able to erase off my mind, the picture of her hands caressing her lustrous, wet body under the spray of the shower. I manage to overcome the thought for a moment, focusing my thoughts on something more troublesome. _'Is she really saying what I think she's saying? Does she really have the hots for a very inaccurate depiction of Jesus?'_

 

Suddenly, as if she just realized what she has been saying, she asks nervously, "Is that wrong, Father?"

 

"Uh... Um... Y-Yes!" My voice breaks just like a prepubescent boy’s would, I seriously am at a lost for words, but I can sense her discomfort, so I dig around for something to say. "I don't... I don't even know where to begin with this." I sigh and rub my eyes with my index finger and thumb before I speak again. "First of all, Our Lord, was middle eastern, so those paintings of him as a caucasian, are inaccurate representations of our Saviour. Jesus did not have blue eyes. So... You've been fantasizing about a fictional fabrication of some artist somewhere," I cut myself short, let out an annoyed breath, shake my head and continue, "But that's not the problem. It's just an honest mistake. Our society has adopted that characterization, and sadly not many artists out there are trying to correct the misconception. You didn’t know bett… Alright, I digress. The real issue is, about the impure thoughts you are having towards the Son of God. I'm not even sure how to categorize that. I have no idea what kind of penance will be more suited in your case. All I can think to say is, that I recommend you to enroll in some kind of project, serving the community maybe, where you can keep your mind occupied and free of those thoughts."

 

I rub my forehead, thinking what else to tell her. She’s not in school anymore, she doesn't have many friends and I know she has been hunting around for a job, which means she's unemployed; there is nothing, really, to keep her mind off of... _Jesus_ , of all people!

 

I feel like I've been less than helpful and overly judgemental. I don't want to scare her away. "My child, I don't really think that you are purposely pursuing this thoughts, and I really wish I could help you rid your mind from them, but sometimes, that's a more problematic task than we think, so, for your penance, I want you to pray some Hail Marys, this time, I'm going to let you decide what would be an appropriate amount of prayers to compensate for your infriction. Now, I think it would be necessary you did and act of contrition before you leave the confessional, saying that you repent from those thoughts, and that you hope our Father, God Almighty, would help you keep them away from your mind." She just lowers her head, and I hear her voice faintly, while she makes a silent prayer. Once I'm sure she's done, I beg for her absolution on a prayer of my own. "Your sins have been pardoned. God has forgiven you, my child. You can now go in peace."

 

"Thanks be to God," I hear her soft response.

 

When she steps out of the small booth, my heart clenches painfully in my chest, and before I can think better of it, I'm stepping out of my side cubicle to catch up with her.

 

"Katniss, wait," I call out.

 

She's only two steps away from the confessional. Her eyes go wild in alarm, looking around the empty chapel. We are the only two people in here, but she looks like she wants nothing more than for the Earth to split open and swallow her whole, or that she would rather die under a stampede of hippos than being seen by anyone.

 

As bad as I feel for her, there's nothing I can do about her embarrassment right now, so I plow on. "Um..." I'm momentarily sidetracked. She is wearing the blasted red dress, as scarlet as sin and death, and completely alluring. It's the most revealing garment I've ever seen her wear; the hem of the skirt comes just above her knees, and the neckline allows me to see the rosary, permanently wrapped around her neck, fall deep into her clothing. A wayward thought escapes my muddled brain: I think for the millionth time, that hers is the holiest crucifix on earth, for it rests against the blessed olive skin of her bare chest, between the valley of her modest breasts.

 

She looks lovely as always. She's of course wearing a cardigan over her short sleeved dress, which does nothing to impede me from admiring the rest of her, her dark braid that is as much a fixture on her as it is her rosary, hangs over her shoulder. She's looking at me with those beautiful grey eyes of hers, that are wide open and getting impatient. I clear my throat.

 

"About that activity to serve the community and keep you... Um... Busy. I-I know the chorus class post has already been filled, but… I need a helper. Actually, a volunteer, to help me teach the young girls catechism class. Mmm, if you are interested, let me know?" I cringe inwardly at my forceful voice. This is a terrible idea.

 

"Oh. Alright. Thank you, Father Mellark. I'll- I'll think about it." She bows a little, turns around and leaves.

 

"That's just great Peeta. Just great!" I mutter under my breath to myself. I'm such a creep! My heart is beating wildly inside my chest. I rake my hand through my hair roughly, "Well, this went horribly bad. You managed to embarrassed her twice in ten minutes. You just beat your own record! Way to go, Idiot!" I collapse back inside the confessional. I might as well stay hidden in here, I'm worthless out there anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's lunch time and I'm fidgety. I can't stop the nervous bounce of my leg. It's the first time all the clergy of the region meets for lunch since I've got assigned to this parish four years ago. If I keep up this jumpy energy, the rest of the priests in the dioceses will notice me in the worse way. It will do me no good to start this meeting with them scowling in my direction, they already dislike me as it is, I don’t need more of their attention.

 

I serve under Father Abernathy, who has a problem with staying away from a bottle of white liquor, but as priests’ vices go, his is fairly the most harmless. Most these men have any number of faults and hidden sins that people won't dare point out, for fear of retaliation. The Church has a lot of influence in small towns in this region, which is never a good thing, but then again, I will not voice my political views in this meeting... I'm not THAT stupid.

 

But, sure enough, one topic comes to discussion, about the deplorable case of a priest that has been accused of child molestation. As each one of my colleagues shares their opinion on the case, I start to feel more and more uncomfortable with the much talk and lamenting, that a man of the cloth was found doing such a thing, but no one actually tackles the real problem there: a man that’s supposedly appointed by the church to serve the people, has hurt an innocent child! Falling into forbidden sexual acts is a shameful sin for a priest, but corrupting a kid's innocence is downright despicable. It should never, ever, happen! No one offers any type of solution to the problem. So, when it comes my turn to speak, I give my honest opinion, and as usual, lands me in deep shit with the rest of the priests.

 

"I think, priests should be allowed to wed. If we were all bound to a significant other, to love and be faithful to, I'm sure we would see a tremendous change in our ranks. We would have less of these disgraceful sexual misbehaviors. I'm not saying having a wife would keep a man from being a sick bastard with perverted urges, that kind of people we really could not fix that easily, but, it sure would help in the long run, in other issues. I also think that Our Holy, Mother Church, should not shield those men, but bring them to the order of the justice. They should have to made hold accountable for their crimes. I cannot think of anything more heinous than stealing a child’s innocence," I'm not done speaking when there's an uproar of the more senior priests and pastors. They all chide me harshly- one of them even spits on the floor as he yells at me- calling me a liberal heretic, and worse. Father Abernathy, only shakes his head and gives me a look that says ' _You brought this upon yourself, Boy'_. I just quietly take all the rabble, and breathe deeply.

 

At thirty, I'm the youngest priest in the whole District, of course everyone thinks I'm wrong and an idiot, that my thoughts are liberal and too progressive for my own good. At one point, someone calls me a separatist, and another hurdles insults questioning my intelligence and mental health. I just take it, while my mind meanders back to the reasons that brought me here.

 

I'm the third child in a family of all boys. Five generations of bakers, by trade. My mother, is a devoted- no, militant!- catholic. The kind of woman who would go to church every time it's gates were open, but act very distant and dry at home; if we ever did anything remotely wrong, our punishment would bordered on cruelty. Her favorite always was: kneeling for hours on end, in front of the small altar she had built in our house for the Virgin Mary, and this was only if we were lucky. Sometimes she would deemed it necessary to put coins or tiny grains of rice down on the floor for us to kneel on; it doesn't sound that bad, but after ten minutes of that, the ridges of the coins or the edges of the rice would cut into our skin leaving behind bruises, scars and unbearable pain.

 

My mother was a piece of work. She still is, but I don't live under her nightmare inducing regime anymore, so her nasty attitude doesn't affect me as much.

 

But back when I was a boy, she was a nightmare. With three ‘unruly’ sons, she became unbearably strict; our home wasn't a very happy one with her at the helm. She ingrained into our psyches, the importance of observing every single religious tradition. Failure to live to her standards of piousness was unacceptable, and me being the youngest, always strained to seek her approval; so, when she lamented that all her sons were wasting their lives as bakers instead of becoming servants of God, I joined a Seminary, thinking it would please her. Too late I realized, seeking my mother's approval was the exact worst incentive to take up the habits.

 

I found out soon enough that I lacked what they called 'vocation', but by then, I had perfected the art of delusion, thanks to my upbringing. I became adept to act, react and even think like one of the seminarians that actually belonged there; I surpassed my peers in my deception, it wasn't a surprise I was the first seminarian to be recommended to be ordained. The one thing I had going for me, and wrongly thought I would be alright about, was my votes of celibacy.

 

Growing up I wasn't interested in girls much, that's not to say I didn't noticed them, I did, I noticed the physical changes on most of them as puberty hit my small cluster of friends, but it wasn't until I arrived to District Twelve, and got assigned to the parish of The Seam, that my struggle with the opposite sex- or more specifically, my struggle with one Katniss Everdeen- begun. Upholding my votes of celibacy never felt so frustrating until her.

 

I remember the very first time I saw her. Her long, dark hair was woven into two braids that seemed to dance behind her back every time she moved. She wore a red checkered dress at least two sizes too big for her, but the color of fire and damnation has always suited her. She was helping with the children's choir, even though she wasn't all that much older herself. Her sister, Primrose, was part of the choir then, and if there's something Katniss is devoted to, is her sister.

 

Katniss’s cheeks- still round as the last vestiges of her teenage years- were flushed with the exertion of trying to keep a group of rowdy preteens in check during practice. Although she was undeniably beautiful, it was Katniss’ angelic voice what caught my attention.

 

I was a goner the first time her melodious voice reached my ears. I was smitten by her sweetness, goodness, purity, compassion and above all her bravery. She would have fit to a T, every single one of my mother's “perfect woman” expectations, if it wasn't for the fact that she was way younger than acceptable (which would've been a none issue eventually), and the blemish to assured my mother an aneurism: Katniss was conceived out of wedlock, which would've have reflected her family's reputation badly in my mother's eyes if it wasn't as insignificant a point when compared to the tiny, pesky issue, of me being a catholic priest. That last one was the wrench in the system, and had nothing to do with pure, blameless Katniss.

 

Father Abernathy's heavy hand on my shoulder brings me back to earth.

 

The meeting is done. I’ve managed to block it all out, just thinking about my sweet unattainable angel.

 

“Come Boy, it's time we got back home. I'm thirsty."

 

I nod, and stand up. All my muscles protest as I stretch. I honestly believe that if the Church allowed the ministers to marry, many temptations would be easier to overcome. If I was allowed a wife, I would had begged Katniss to marry me as soon as I met her! it would have saved me the guilt of spending indecent amounts of times jacking off to fantasies of her. Seeing her face to face at mass  after a masturbatory binge, wouldn't be so darned awkward, embarrassing and draining if I was allowed to court her, and eventually marry her. It's an exercise in futility, wishing the impossible would become possible.

 

We arrive at our apartment, and to my unending surprise, the object of both my affections and anxiety, is there.

 

Sweet, beautiful Katniss, smiling nervously at us. “Good afternoon Fathers. I'm taking over Mrs. Sae's duties for the day. She's feeling a bit under the weather, and asked me to fill in for her,” her shining gray eyes keep fleeting between us and the impeccably clean floor nervously, “Hope that's alright,” her smile falters a little.

 

Old widow Sae cooks and cleans for us. Her and her sister Ripper, are among the few people that have always been genuinely nice to Katniss, it was no surprise the old woman would call her in a pinch. But I wonder if it's more than that? I know Sae has been talking about retiring and becoming a full time grandmother. This might as well be her way to point us into the direction of her future replacement.

 

"Close your mouth and redirect your sight elsewhere, Boy. It won't do to keep staring at the girl like she's a meal."

 

I jump startled at the gruff voice of father Abernathy in my ear, but immediately do as he says, I close my mouth that had been hanging open, and bring my eyes to him instead.

 

"Sorry," I mutter shifting my gaze to the floor quickly.

 

"It's not me you have to apologize to,” his voice is only loud enough for me to hear, then his eyes flash back to Katniss, still standing there awkwardly, looking more uncomfortable the longer we take to answer. “Alright Sweetheart, carry on. Tell Sea to take all the time she needs.”

 

“Thank you, Father Abernathy!” She backs away clumsily, her smile fully restored on her pretty face.

 

She disappears into the kitchen, my head lifted of its own accord to watch her retrieving back leaving the room, a goofy smile of my own started to form, but was immediately smashed to smithereens when Abernathy's gruff cadences whisper over my shoulder.

 

“Steer away from the girl, Peeta, she's out of bounds." he says, surreptitiously looking at her through the kitchen archway before fixing his grey penetrating gaze on mine.

 

I nod. He's right.

 

Haymitch, as he prefers me to call him in the security of our apartment, has known about the feelings I harbor for Katniss almost from the very beginning. He knows she's the reason I keep saying to ever higher up clergyman I encounter, that the church needs a reform that allows priests to marry. He really doesn't agree, but sees the potential benefits all the same.

 

"I gotta go have a drink." He says and walks past me, "Good afternoon Sweetheart. Thank you for... whatever it is you did today in here,” he says waving his arm around the sitting room. “I'm going to my bedroom. If anyone comes by, let Father Mellark deal with it." He tells her, as he passes next to her on the hall, practically slamming his bedroom door behind him.

 

"Of course, Father Abernathy,” she says at his closed door with a smile so fake it's almost a grimace, “At your service, sir. It was my pleasure to clean up every empty bottle out of your filthy room," She mutters sarcastically clearly annoyed by Haymitch's less than stellar manners.

 

I can't stop the little chuckle that erupts from me, I’ve heard of her no nonsense attitude and of her spitfire reputation, but around me she's usually very shy and quiet. I think I just fell in love with her tiny bit more just now, the bad news, is that I wasn't supposed to witness her reaction, because the moment she realizes I'm still standing in the same place she last saw me a moment ago, she goes pale, her eyes widen in terror and her lower lip quivers almost imperceptibly.

 

She gasps, covering her mouth and jumping an inch off the ground in surprise.

 

“Oh, my word!" She bunches together her blouse above her heart. Her face is furiously red with embarrassment, and I'm sure she'll start crying any second now, which prompts me to spring forward, causing her to stumble backwards.

 

My arms are around her tiny waist before I can think better of it. I pull her to me before she loses her balance completely and falls. We stay still in astonishment at our sudden position a moment too long. I know I should let go of her, I just can't bring myself to tear my arms from around her, but I do. With all the effort in the world, I force myself to let her go. I still hold her slender hand in mine to steady her, I notice how rough and calloused her hands actually are from manual labor and cleaning chemicals. I make a mental note, to sneak a pair of plastic gloves in the cleaning supplies if she stays permanently after Sae retires.

 

"I- I'm sorry, Father Mellark, I didn't realized you were there, I... Oh, gosh! I'm so embarrassed, and sorry, for what I said. I..."

 

She shakes her head frantically, her face downcast and crimson; she won't stop speaking, so I speak over her to stop her, "No. It's alright, don't worry about it. I usually say similar things behind his back. You're fine." I try to calm her down, "Are you alright, though? Sorry if I frighten you," She stops finally, and looks at me with those beautiful gray eyes of her’s full of gratitude and what I think is admiration, I smile at her reassuringly, but that only causes her blush to deepen and her face to lower away from mine.

 

"Oh. Um, you didn't frightened me, sir.” She says meekly, “I just wish you hadn't heard me being unkind. I don't want you to ever have a poorer concept of me than surely you already have," Her voice is small and sad. “Please, don't let my slip reflect badly on Sae either. She has never said an ill word against Father Abernathy, I don't want her to get in trouble because of my big mouth,”

 

It's a good thing she won't look at me, because all I can do is stare hungrily at her mouth, which by the way it's not big, just tempting.

 

She pulls her hand away from mine as if I had burn her skin. That's when I realize my thumb had been caressing her knuckles this whole time. Inwardly, I want to slap myself in the face, for stepping so much over the line. It's all I can do, not to scream obscenities at myself.

 

I straighten up and step away from her, trying to keep a respectful distance between us, so she can relax, “Don't you worry about it, I could never think poorly of you, Katniss. You're the best person I know, and Mrs. Sae has very good taste choosing her helpers,” I tell her sincerely.

 

Her eyes flit back to mine momentarily, and a shy smile forms on her lips at me for just a second before shaking her head and looking away, the pink staining her face is still intact. My stupid heart jumps a little, she's effortlessly beautiful and her shy side is as mesmerizing as the side of her that ranted after Haymitch, she might still be mortified I heard her unflattering comments towards the head priest of our small town, but I can say without shadow of a doubt, that there's little she can say that would make me think poorly of her

 

“Thank you…” She trails off looking back at the kitchen, no doubt planning her escape.

 

"As long as you are alright, then." I say softly, she won't meet my gaze again.

 

"So, um… Father Mellark, your dinner is in the oven. It should still be very hot, so, please be careful when you handle it. Or maybe I should serve you a plate before I leave, I mean, if you're hungry right now of course, if you're not hungry, I won't. But I figure I'd ask just in case,"

 

I repress a groan of frustration, ' _Will it ever not be awkward between us?'_ She’s still talking to the floor, so out of impulse, I put my fingers under her chin and lift her face to mine; she stops dead, and her breathtaking grey eyes widened with barely concealed panic, I have to bite my lip hard to keep me from kissing her.

 

"It's alright. I can manage a hot oven. I grew up in a bakery, you know." I say as ways of explanation, "I know how to avoid burns, or treat them if I can't avoid them," I smile at her, and she seems to relax a smidge.

 

"I... Alright, if you can handle it," She breaths out, but quickly steps back from my grasp, and I can't blame her for it. Somehow the space between us has shrunk to about two inches from each other, and I'm sure it was me who closed the previous chasm between us.

 

I decide it's time to give her a way out, so I offer it. "If you are all done here, why don't you go home early?" I try to sound casual.

 

"But, I still have about 45 minutes before I'm supposed to clock-out. I'm sure there's something I can find to do before I have to go. I think I'll just stay in case you want me for anything,"

 

' _Oh Katniss, please don't say that! I want you for plenty of inappropriate things,'_ , as soon as the thought hits my mind, I feel the urge to strangle myself. I fight with my facial muscles to keep an emotionless expression in front of her.

 

"No,” I say way too fast, “I'm good. Go on. Take off. I'm sure you can spend your free time with your family, in a more enjoyable way. Father Abernathy and I will manage just fine." I smile again, because she lit up at the mention of her family. I know she’s automatically translated family into Primrose. I'm sure the prospect of spending time with her little sister is what convinces her to leave.

 

"Well, if there's nothing you want me to do, then I guess I could take off early." She smiles shyly back at me, "Thank you, Father Mellark."

 

"Peeta!" I correct her impulsively. She gives me a weary look, so I hurry to explain, "At least when we are in the rectory, you don't have to be so formal. I trust in your judgement, so I think is safe to treat each other like friends." I say trying to sound encouraging.

 

After she studies me for a moment, she nods, still regarding me seriously. "I don't have that many friends... _Peeta_. Thank you."

 

The world sits still for a second, as my breath hitches at the sound of my name on her tongue. I knew her voice was sweet, but my name sounds like honey and milk trickling out of her rosy lips. I think I could die happy if she says my name once more.

 

"Well, I'm honored to be your friend, Katniss." I manage to get out. I see the ghost of a smile form on her lips, but it doesn't completely materialize and I mourn it deeply.

 

"Well, I'm gonna go, then. Thank you for allowing me to leave early." She says softly.

 

"It's no problem at all. Thank you for taking care of me and Father Abernathy. You deserve some time to yourself. Go have some fun with your sister."

 

She nods, and quickly gathers her things, wraps a shawl around her shoulders, and waves goodbye before closing the door behind her.

 

I sigh long and loud. "You deserve the best this world has to offer, Katniss. Go enjoy your life." I say to the door. After a moment of silence, I go to my room and only emerge from it when Haymitch is banging dishes and cups in the kitchen like a petulant child.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sae brings forth her letter of resignation, making it very clear who she recommends to take her place.

 

Haymitch still insists on announcing the opening position to the congregation, just to be fair and transparent. Besides Katniss, only two more people show interest on the job, which means interviews have to be done, and each person gets to work around the rectory for a day, so we can all see if this would be a good fit on both sides. At the end of the week, Haymitch has wave me off, saying that if he had his way, he'd never hire Katniss, and that's solely because of me. The problem is, she's the best choice. She's responsible, punctual, efficient and cooks pretty well... Not as well as Sae, mind you, but nobody cooks as well as Sae.

 

I make all kinds of bullshit promises just to get Haymitch to call her back to offer the job. We both know she desperately needs it. He agrees under the condition, that I'm not to speak to her alone, and that he’ll be chaperoning my every interaction with her just to keep me honest. I agree to his terms in a heartbeat, and Katniss becomes our Housekeeper within the week.

 

Haymitch being himself, soon gets bored with his self imposed task of watching me like a hawk when the pretty girl is around. One day he finally releases the biggest oxymoron statement I've ever heard, washing his hands off me and my behavior:

 

“You're a grown man, Boy. A wolf should know how to watch his lambs for afar. You be careful. Stay true to your vows until the girl weds that boy of her’s, and no one will be the wiser about your little crush."

 

I feel like a recovering addict, who's councilor and parole officer have left guarding a pound of weed. No good will come of this, and that fear alone keeps me on the straight and narrow path for a time, but I'm only a man, and little by little, my resolve weakens, and I fall prey of my own humanity.

 

I must admit, Katniss’ presence in my everyday life has brought a plethora of new struggles, resembling something akin to torture, but I'm proud of her hard work and tenacity. As menial as it might seem, she takes her job seriously and excels at it, she truly deserves her pay and everyone's respect for what she does, so I try to treat her with all the decorum I can muster. I stay my hand in the shower during the days she comes to keep our living spaces presentable, I try the gentlemanly thing of not thinking of her when I can't hold off any longer, and my hand wraps around my aching dick seeking release.

 

When that fails, I start trying to picture her as a rabid mutt, with fangs and claws ready to tear me apart. It never works. She'll never be that monster, although that doesn't mean she isn't a threat all the same. I'm the mutt, she's just a pretty girl, unsuspecting of the darkness I carry inside.

 

On the other hand, I've come to know her better this last few weeks. She is every bit the Girl on Fire people talk about so much, but not in a showy way. Katniss is very observant, subdued, taciturn at times. She's quiet, almost brooding when in certain circles. She's a little skittish, she's not very free with her trust and affection, but once she befriends someone, she's fiercely loyal. She's not afraid to speak her mind to Haymitch, but she's terribly shy when I'm around. I'm not sure what to make of her, she's a poem of contradictions, and I love every new quirk of hers I discover from afar.

 

I pray for strength to resist my urges every day, but I'm afraid something will give very soon, and there won't be any salvation from this impending flood of sinful nature.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Katniss and I have been working on the friendship thing for weeks now. it's a slow process, but she's comfortable enough to sit and have a cup of tea with me every once in awhile. I enjoy those moments the most, as she seems to open up about herself much easier.

 

She talks about her late father a lot, about the bond they used to have, and how she always felt loved and wanted when he was around, how he taught her archery, which she now practices for sport. How they used to sing together every day, and then she tells me about the void his untimely death left behind. How it damaged her relationship with her mother.

 

Katniss was born in a loving home with a father and a mother, but somehow her conception was a big source of gossip in town up to this day. Her parents didn't belong to the same social classes, but they were young and in love and figured the only way to force their families hands into allowing a marriage was falling pregnant out of wedlock. The one thing I will never understand is the nonsensical, truly moronic logic of this town, I've seen Katniss take every insult and malicious comment thrown at her about her origins with steely determination not to let it affect her.

 

It's ridiculous, people would try to bully and ostracized a young person for some sin they had no way of preventing, let alone participate in. It's not her fault her parents made rash decisions in their youth- most people do- it's unfair to put the burden of those actions on innocent shoulders. But I guess there's a silver lining to it, Katniss is as strong, brave and righteous because of her accusers.

 

One would think people would back away and forget about it after so long, but not in this town full of snakes and scorpions. I understand better why Katniss can be so cut and dry; so black and white. On the same coin, her being the perfect woman she is, means, she’ll never contemplate having an illicit liaison with a priest. I'm sure that would be at the top of 'sin's she'll never commit' list. Katniss tries very hard to stay away from public eyes, keeping quiet as to not become gossip fodder to this town.

 

She confesses her resentment towards her mother. This feelings are multilayered, it's no secret this town judges her every move based on her mother’s youthful indiscretions. I can't imagine how exhausting it might be for her to keep her reputation pristine, always watching her back, never really being free to enjoy being a young woman herself.

 

I know for a fact she accepted Hawthorne's proposal, because he kissed her in front of a couple of the church ladies who quickly started whispering their doubts Katniss would ever amount to much, having her mother as an example. I was so angry at the way she got treated for something she had no control over, and didn't ask for, that the following Sunday, after begging Father Abernathy to allow me to give the Sermon during mass, I spit brimstone and sulfur from the altar, all directed at the harpies that had attacked Katniss, and pushed her to become engaged. I know I don't have a chance in hell with her, but it was definitely easier to daydream that we could be in love with one another when she was unclaimed.

 

Sadly, for all my efforts in preaching about mercy, justice and condemnation, nothing really changed.

 

Another fault of Mrs. Everdeen, Katniss can't seem to forgive her for is: falling apart when her husband died. Personally, I try to put myself in the lady's shoes, losing the person you defied a whole town for, so unexpectedly, but I can also see Katniss’ point of view. She had to take the mantel of parent for Primrose for a bit, while they both fought malnourishment and starvation for months.

 

It's another reason for me to hate this accursed town, they all but turned their backs on the Everdeens, knowing good and well, the Bible says we need to care for widows and orphans, because that's the Lord’s command. Sometimes, I can't stand the hypocrisy of some of my parishioners.

 

Katniss started hunting for sustenance when her dad’s insurance money ran out and the pangs of hunger were too strong to ignore. That's how she met Gale, an affluent boy from Seam, that hunted for sport. He helped her out, taught her how to make snares, and she in returned taught him how to shoot a bow and arrows.

 

I sigh at the thought, of course she’d fall for a guy that could bring down a ten point buck with his know-how attitude and prowess. She'll never be hungry again, and I truly wish that notion be enough for me to let go, and be happy for her.

 

I'm a terrible man, each day that passes, I crave her more.

 

Today, she's finished her chores earlier than normal. As usual, she timidly asks if there's anything else she can do for us, so she doesn't take off before her shift is officially over. On impulse, I tell her there's something she can do for me, I don't want her to leave yet, but I don't want her to clean up shit anymore, so I ask her, _as a friend_ , to sit in the backyard and lend me an ear.

 

We’ve been doing this, just talking, so she nods shyly and we make our way to the patio furniture behind the rectory. I make the effort to share about my own family, God knows there's a lot of issues there, and I should be talking about it with a professional instead of a twenty one year old church member I'm attracted to, but at this point I'm grasping at straws to stay in her company.

 

I'm playing with fire, but… I'm growing more impervious to the heat every day.

 

“I love my father,” I tell her over my mug, “He's a kind man, but he wouldn't stand up for me and my brothers.” I try not to sound bitter. “He wholeheartedly believed that mother was doing the right thing, raising us to be observant of the Catholic faith, strict as she was. Having a belief system, observing a religious faith is definitely a good thing if you teach it in a loving environment, actually following Jesus' teachings about compassion and forgiveness, but when your mother tries to beat the Ten Commandments into your skull with an actual wood paddle engraved with the commandments…” ‘Well, that's just fucked up’ Is how that sentence ends, but of course, I spare her that last sentiment.

 

I don't want to scandalize her with my foul language, but since I'm thinking about them, I mention that I became a priest to honor my mother, as the Scripture commands in Exodus, _"Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee._ " I say staring at the mug in my hand. When I look up, she’s absently dragging a finger around the rim of her own, a sheepish look on her face.

 

She feels my gaze on her, and squirms a little before looking up. She scowls, speaking softly, "I wish I could be like you in that regard. I can't find it in me to forgive my mother for the pain she caused Prim and I. She practically abandoned us when we needed her most. But, I do try to honor my father in everything I do. I want him to be proud of me. I know, he would want me to be different around my mother. I guess, I could try... with your help." Is more of a timid request, than a statement, but she gives me a hopeful smile, eyes shy and tender.

 

My heart shatters, because I really do want to help her. I'm just not sure I'm the best person to seek help from when it comes to family issues; I detest my mother, I feel like a hypocrite.

 

That doesn't stop me from smiling at her and cover her hand with mine on the table, as I tell her, "Of course. I would love to be of assistance in any way I can."

 

Instead of pulling her hand away from mine, she turns it over, letting our fingers intertwine more intimately than its proper. We are smiling at each other like a pair of idiots, I momentarily forget where we are.

 

"Katniss? What the hell is going on?" Comes the harsh voice of Gale Hawthorne from the other side of the wire fence behind the rectory.

 

We are completely exposed to every eye that walks by, and regrettably, the first set of eyes to wander over belong to Katniss’ fiance.

 

Reluctantly, slowly, she slips her hand out from under mine and scowls immediately. She makes her way towards Gale quickly, plastering a huge smile on her face, that I've come to know is her fake smile, I'm thrown for a loop with her dissatisfaction to see her future husband! I've seen what her real smiles look like, I'm sure Gale is familiar with them as well, even so more than me, yet, he doesn't seem to notice.

 

I get up slowly, trying to blend in with the background while Katniss talks to her soon to be groom.

 

"Hi sweetie, what a pleasant surprise to see you around here at this time of day. Do you want to come sit with me and Father Mellark for a cup of tea? We were just talking about the importance of having a good relationship with our families, and we..."

 

"Save it Katniss, I'm here to take you home. Remember tonight we are having dinner with my parents, to talk about our new house?" His eyes are like slabs of rock, hard and cold as he looks her up and down. It's crazy to me he feels entitled enough to make his parents foot the bill of the house he's promising his wife-to-be, but hey, they can afford it.

 

During the weeks I've been getting to know Katniss, I've also made it my task to study her family and friends, familiarizing with every detail of her life I can, just to feel closer. I'm not proud of my stalkerish behavior, especially when one of my findings is that Gale Hawthorne is as much a fake a devoted Catholic as I am a pure hearted priest.

 

He's there for every mass ever given in his designated pew, right next to Mrs. Everdeen and her two daughters. He sings the songs, prays the prayers, and gives generously every time there's a collection, but I see it in his eyes, he's there just to win his prize: Katniss. Once he finally gets her, I'm not sure what would happen. He might stop coming to church, he might become abusive or controlling, he might even forbid her to attend mass altogether! I've seen men like that before. What scares me, is that there isn't anything I can do to stop her from marrying him. I'm no better that the townsfolk that watched her as a little girl, wasting away in hunger, and never lifted a finger to help.

 

"Gale," She sighs defeated, bringing me back to the present. "Fine. Let me get my stuff then," She starts to say, adopting that docile tone of voice I know is not really hers, but merely the expectation of what she should be.

 

"I'll bring your bag, Miss Everdeen, so you don't have to go back inside the rectory. You stay out here with Mr. Hawthorne." I offer with a friendly smile.

 

She accepts with a soft “Thank you, Father”, but there’s no smile on her face.

 

When I come back I stand just inside the door, listening to the heated words being exchanged between them.

 

"He's my friend, Gale! stop being so jealous!" She hisses.

 

"Friend? You really think he wants to be just friends with you? Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror? That fucker wants your body, Katniss." He hisses back with venom.

 

He has a point there, she greatly underestimates her amazingly beautiful looks, but he's also partially wrong, I want more than just her body, I also want her for her brains. She's brilliant!

 

"Gale, Shut up! Don't use that kind of language. You don't know what you're talking about, just because that's what YOU want, doesn't mean he does as well. He doesn't see me that way." She accuses.

 

Gale laughs derisively at that, I'm sure it holds no mirth even though I can't see his face.

 

"Sure Catnip, you keep telling yourself that,” He says after a while. “Just stay away from that Mellark character, I'm warning you! He wants you, and if you don't wake up and keep with the program, he's going to get exactly what he wants!"

 

"And what’s that, oh you, infallible Gale? Enlighten me, then." She spats angrily.

 

"He wants to lure you into his bed, take your virtue away, and use you! If you don't pay attention, he will, and he will get you pregnant and leave you with a heap, sky high, of trouble. He'll be gone as soon as the wind picks up, and you would stay here to rot in a worse position than your mother ever was! Is that what you want? To be a worse pariah than your mother?"

 

There’s a long heavy pause. I scrunch up my eyes tightly, my hands clenching up into fists that I really like to connect with Hawthorne's jaw.

 

That was a very low blow.

 

I can't believe he went there so easily. I feel my chest tighten imagining how Katniss must feel after such a heinous thing to say.

 

Then she whispers brokenly, "He's a priest, Gale. He doesn't want that. Specially not with me." All the anger and fire of her voice is gone. She sounds small and ashamed, and I hate Gale Hawthorne for making her sound so beaten down.

 

"He's a man, Catnip,” His voice is now gentle. That snake! “Under that habit he wears, he's a man, with manly urges, and darkness in his heart. Men always want pretty girls," I can't believe how manipulative he's being, playing off of her fears, it angers me. "But, don't worry sweetheart, we'll be married in three months time, and we will move to District Two, and leave this Godforsaken hole behind. We will start our brand new life together, far from all the misery of this town, and far from that wolf in sheep's clothing."

 

I shut my eyes again and take a shuddering breath.

 

That's right, her wedding had been set to happen in under three months. I didn't know he was planning to move away, though. I'm going to lose her once and for all.

 

I have to remind myself, she was never mine to begin with, she belongs with Gale, no matter how big of a jerk he is. The worse thing of his poisonous speech, is that he’s not wrong. As a man, I would love to have her in my bed, but, he's wrong when he tells her that I would abandon her at the first sign of trouble. I would stick with her if I was ever given the chance. She is both right and wrong, I am a priest, I can't have her, although I want her so much it physically hurts. I take a very deep breath to try and put myself under control.

 

I've stepped just into the landing, about to bring her purse out, when her voice sounds muffled and forceful. "Gale, let go of me. This is inappropriate." I see his arms around her body, his lips splayed over hers, but she's struggling to push away from him.

 

I'm not sure if I should intervene or not, I flounder for a moment and turn around to go back inside, but my movements get their attention and they separate, or at least she does. He keeps his arms planted, possessively, around her waist, showing me she’s his; as if I need the visual to remind me of that.

 

In my flustered state, I stutter an apology for interrupting them and back into the scraggly rose bush flanking the doorway into the back of the rectory.

 

This hasn't been my day at all. I feel a sting that shoots painfully directly through my arm all the way to my heart, as if I need to add this kind of pain to my poor heart as well. I bring my finger out from behind me, to examine a thorn buried deep into my skin. I pull out the prickly thorn with and "ouch", and as soon as a bead of deep red blood sprouts up, Katniss rushes to my side, leaving Gale looking angrier than before. I'm bleeding quite a lot for such a superficial wound.

 

Katniss takes my hand in hers gingerly to inspect the pierced finger.

 

"I'm alright, I'm alright. It's nothing. It's just a pinch. You go ahead and go to your family dinner, I got this, really. Thank you, miss Katniss." I say trying to get my hands away from hers. But she pulls back.

 

"Are you sure, Father? I can stay and help you clean it up. I'm not a certified nurse like my mother is, but I know my way around the first aid kit!" She says gently, smiling so sweetly at me.

 

I won't allow her to get into more trouble with her future husband watching us like a vulture does carrion.

 

"I'm alright, I can take care of it. Really." I say forcefully.

 

Her smile falters. She probably suspects I heard them talking. So she let's go of my hand, and slowly backs away.

 

"Come Katniss, Father Mellark says he's fine." Gale says impatiently.

 

"Okay. If you insist, Father. Thank you for fetching my bag for me." She lifts the purse off the ground as if to show me. "I'll see you tomorrow then." She is at the gate, but she turns around to address me again.

 

"Father Mellark? Thank you for sharing your words with me. I have a lot think about my mother and father.”

 

I nod, a sad smile on my face. But hers, is hopeful.

 

After she's step outside my yard, she bends over and picks a dandelion from the ground. She smiles at it fondly and gives me another side glance. Gale pulls on her arm, while she waves the fragile stem into her hair.

 

Sometimes, Katniss Everdeen stomps me.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Katniss arrives bright and early.

 

I have nothing much to do, but Haymitch has to go meet with the archbishop two towns over, so right after 8:00 am, it's just the two of us. We don't talk much; she keeps herself busier than normal, but by lunchtime time, I can't handle her loud silence anymore.

 

Thus starts the beginning of my downfall.

 

“Katniss, will you sit for lunch with me?” I ask directing her view to the table I've already set up with two bowls of soup and a plate of sandwiches in the middle.

 

She bites her lip prettily, obviously weighing her options while I hold my breath waiting for her answer. I breathe easier again, when she finally nods her head and excuses herself to the restroom to wash her hands.

 

The meal is tense, and awkward, until she wipes her lips, and sets her neatly folded napkin next to her plate.

 

"Um, Peeta. About yesterday. I don't know how much you heard." She starts softly.

 

I stop her before she can go any further, “It's alright Katniss. It doesn't matter."

 

"It does matter! It's not alright!” She counters, almost whining. “Not a word Gale said was alright. I'm so sorry and embarrassed about the whole incident. You have been such a good friend to me, and Gale doesn't understand. You are holy man, and…” She sits straighter, her eyes fill with tears suddenly, and she starts to shake.

 

I quickly get out of my chair and kneel next to her taking her hands in mine, as a sob racks through her.

 

"Katniss, it's fine. Gale’s fine. He didn't offended me. He's just trying to protect you. Any good husband would try to protect his wife from the dangers of the world! I'm not holding against him anything he said, I promise," my speech is rushed and stuttering, but she's not calming down.

 

"I'm not his wife!" She yells at me, and I'm not sure why she sounds like I just threw an insult at her.

 

"Well, not yet. But soon. He's just looking out for you."

 

"Well, I don't want him too!" She looks at me with those grey eyes that swirl with reproach and barely concealed anger. At what, I'm not sure.

 

I sigh, because I'm torn. I'm not sure how to proceed here, on the one hand, I want to advise her to get the hell as far away as possible from him, while in the other hand, I question just how much of that advice I'm basing on my own feelings for her, and what its objective anymore. Even if she breaks her engagement off, she'll never be mine, I'll just have to sit here and suffer watching another young man go after her, until she's taken away from my never close reach.

 

"Well, let's calm you down first, and then we can discuss your options.” I say diplomatically, “You do have options here, you know."

 

She nods, and lowers her face to hide her tears from me. "I need to confess something, though." she mutters under her breath.

 

"Katniss, I don't think..."

 

"Not, as your parishioner,” she rushes cutting me off. “As a person. As a friend." Her eyes still remain on the floor.

 

"Alright." I try to sound as calm as I can, but in reality I'm not sure where she's going with all this. I'm hoping it's not that she had sex with him, and now feels obligated to marry him, because I was about to suggest she postpone her wedding, if not call it off altogether.

 

"I'm evil.” She whispers, her eyes downcast and wet. “I’m evil, and I will end up like Jezebel!" she states firmly.

 

"What?" I’m taken aback, "Why would you end up like Jezebel? She was probably one of the worse sinners ever recorded in the Scrptures. Her punishment, was one of the harshest I can recall."

 

She cuts my speech, with her frantic reply. "I'm going to end up in Hell, while mutt wolves eat my flesh! I Want to break off my engagement with Gale. I don't love him. I don't feel the flutterings in my stomach when he's near me. I don't dream about my wedding night, or crave his kisses or his touch. I haven't even tried on my wedding gown! Brides are supposed to do that sort of thing, wear the stupid puffy dress every chance they get, while daydreaming about their wedding day! I don't. I'm a terrible person! instead of coming clean to him, and tell him all this, I coward behind choosing china patterns of dishes I'll never use." She sighs and wipes her tears off.

 

I reach for a glass of water on the table and hand it to her. When she's calmed down some, she continues.

 

"Gale’s mother gave me this beautiful set of earrings last night. I’m supposed to wear ‘em during the wedding. I cried. Right in front of her, I cried like a little child. She thought I was being emotional about the wedding, and hugged me and told me she was glad it was me. Because Hazelle Hawthorne truly loves me, Peeta. But, in reality, I was crying because I felt ashamed at stringing them all along this far. I should have never accepted the proposal, but I know for a fact I will never marry anyone if I don't marry Gale. Nobody wants me in this town, not with my sinful origins. I don't want to hurt the Hawthornes, I don't want to hurt Gale. He was my only friend when I was all alone in the world, and became my hunting partner when didn't have anything to win from it!"

 

I think she's totally wrong. Gale got himself the best looking woman in town. Every boy and man that has eyes knows, Katniss is the most desirable girl around. She just can't see it herself after all the years of hearing the other women's envious snarls and lies.

 

Silent tears escape her eyes, and my heart breaks for her. I wish I could tell her how wrong she is, I want her. Every unattached man I town would kill to have her. I want her more than anything in this world, and I don't care about where she came from, but I’m not allowed to tell her that, instead I say, "Katniss, you are not going to Hell for feeling that way. You are not evil, you are not a horrible person either. You just had a series of bad circumstances surround you, it's not your fault where you came from, but you are responsible of what path you chose to take from now on. If you don't love Gale, then tell him," I start slowly, but I don't finish, because she's speaking over me again.

 

"No! You don't understand. I am a horrible person, because I do feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and I dream of kisses and caresses and wedding nights, but, it's not with Gale. I want all that with another man."

 

I regret having been staring at her tear stained face right then, because I can feel my frown forming, and my heart clenching. But again, she's not done talking, so I keep holding fast unto her arms.

 

"When Gale said all those awful things about you yesterday, I found myself wishing, hoping they were all true." She blurts out, and then her eyes grow as big as saucers.

 

My throat dries up and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth uselessly.

 

The silence that follows is only punctuated by her whimpers and my own heartbeat, drumming loudly in my ears.

 

She finally looks away, severing our staring match. Meekly, she says, "I’m scared to death. I’ve been so confused for the last few weeks, and then suddenly, hearing Gale say all those things, I wanted them to be true. I want you to sin for me, I want you to forsake and betray your vows for me. What kind of harlot am I, to wish a holy man taints his mortal soul for someone as unworthy as me?" She covers her face with her hands once she is done with the barrage of words that just spilled from her lips. She looks shocked at her own audacity, and truthfully so am I.

 

Her beautiful eyes are frantically searching my face. I think she might be expecting a response from me, but my mind is stuck.

 

Suddenly, she shakes her head shutting her eyes tightly. "I should go. I’ve shown you enough of my perfidy. Now you know how deep my sinful nature runs. Can you see how evil I am, Peeta?”

 

I’m stunned. She mistakes my lack of reaction for rejection, so she reverts to her formal treatment of me.

 

“I am so sorry, Father Mellark, you've done nothing but show me friendship and kindness, and this is how I repay it. By hoping I could captivate you enough to get you to quit your profession for me. You see, I wish Gale was right! I want you to want me like a man wants a woman, I want you to love me with the desperation I feel, because all the things I do not feel for Gale, the fluttering, the giddiness, the need to always be close, I don't experience with him, I feel for you. I've been feeling this way for the longest time, always devising ways to see you, coming to the confessional every time I knew you were there, becoming your employee."

 

She's wringing her hands together, she won't look me in the eyes, and I'm grateful for that, because I probably am a sight. My eyes hurt for lack of blinking, my jaw is somewhere down on the floor. She wants me, and badly!

 

"I know it's impossible, and I know I'm making an fool out of myself here, but I’ve been struggling with this feelings for far too long, and yesterday, I finally understood, that the way I feel for you is so wrong. I know you would never be interested in me, because I'm such a waste, and I'm not even pretty, and..."

 

I finally regain control over my body after the realization that she just implied that she might love me, sank in. I had to stop her ranting and crazy talk about her being a waste and not being pretty. Logically, the only solution is to trap her face in both my hands and kiss her fully on the lips, shutting once and for all her unrelenting word vomit.

 

Her lips are glorious pressed against mine. Our eyes are wide open, staring into each other's, I'm sure we are mirror images of the shock we are both feeling at this very, inappropriate act. But she wanted me to sin for her. Well, I'm sinning now and I don't know how to reel myself back anymore.

 

I should pull away, I should get up and walk away. But I can't. I'm stuck on her lips, and I have no desire to get unstuck.

 

Finally, she pulls away. "Oh, no...” she gasps touching two fingers to her bruised lips, “Oh, Lord, no! No, no, no, no.” Her arms force my hands off her face and neck, “I told you I was evil." She whimpers standing up abruptly.

 

The chair she was sitting on slams against the floor when scrambles away from my hands, that stupidly reach out to grab her again.

 

“Harlot. Sinner. Evil…” She steps back her glassy eyes terrified as she stares at me still kneeling in the same spot.

 

All I can seem to process is, she's wrong. She isn't evil, it's me. I'm the one that initiated the kiss. I don't get to say anything to relieve her of her guilt, because she flies out of the small apartment before I can even registered she has fled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Father Mellark! What a pleasant surprise!" Says a bubbly Primrose Everdeen, widening her front door for me, "Please, come in!” she beckons with a hand gesture, “I'm sure Katniss will be glad to see you! She never stops talking about working in the rectory, it's too bad she has been feeling so rotten lately!" Prim is even worse than Katniss at letting anyone talk with them, but since my brain is in terrible turmoil with all this new information and the fear of seeing Katniss and what her response might be, I’m grateful that Prim’s constant chatter only allows me to nod politely and return all of her big, bright smiles.

 

It's been three days since I kissed her. The very next day, she called Haymitch and said she was terribly sick. I believe, in a way, she was telling the truth. I'm sure she's sickly scared of seeing me, that is.

 

Prim stops in the living room for a moment, looking a little pensive. I take a look around the cozy little house and my eyes quickly land on the inaccurate portrait of Jesus that started- No, perpetrated- all this awkwardness.

 

I clear my throat to bring Prim back to the present and ask her as calmly as I can, "Is Mrs. Everdeen around?"

 

"Oh, of course not. She's in the middle of her three day shift actually. She doesn't come home from the hospital until tomorrow evening." She says shrugging. "It's just me and Katniss until then. I'm not sure what will I do with all my free time when it's just me.” She says somberly. “Gale told us over the weekend he plans to take my sister away to District 2. Mother wasn't very happy about it, but she understands. I'm almost seventeen, is not like I can't take care of myself, but I still can't picture life without my sister."

 

She rambles on for a while, and right when I was about to insert my comment into her monologue, she blurts out, "Do you want to see her?" She stares at me intently.

 

Her eyes have the same shape as her sister's actually, they are so similar in features they could be fraternal twins. Obviously their sameness stop at their coloring. Katniss' skin is sun-kissed olive, while Prim is as fair as a China doll, sunny blond hair where her sister's is as black as ink, and Prim has blue almond shaped eyes while Katniss’ eyes are molten gray. They share the same innocence reflected in both sets of eyes, but there’s a softness, a trust in Prim’s gaze that Katniss' eyes lack. Maybe it's because Prim has never been the object to the ridicule this town submits Katniss to.

 

I blink for a moment, asking stupidly, "Excuse me, what was that?"

 

I must've sound like an idiot, because Prim giggles, and then repeats her question, "Do you want to see her? Katniss?" She clarifies.

 

"Y-yeah. If it's possible. I, um, I need to speak with her privately for a moment." I say with apprehension.

 

Prim interprets my visit wrongly, there's worry rapidly growing in her pretty face.

 

"Please don't fire her!" She begs instantly, "She loves being with you! She loves working at the Rectory!" She sputters, obliviously making it a million times worse for me, but I react quick.

 

"No, no. She's not losing her job! Not at all! Actually," I flounder around for something, some kind of excuse that would necessitate me having a private chat with Katniss, and then it hits me; and it's brilliant, and I love Katniss for asking me about it not a week ago. "I’m here because she volunteered to take over the young girl's catechism class. I need to discuss a few things with her, before she starts teaching!" I say, and I'm so glad for my handy excuse I can't help but smile broadly at Prim, who looks like a real heavyweight has lift from her tiny frail shoulders.

 

It doesn't matter that's a bold face lie. The class was taken by a nun almost a month ago, but it's as drab and quiet as a shrinking pond, and not many girls know of it. Katniss was half disappointed the class had been taken up.

 

Prim perks up rapidly at the news, and gushes about how perfect Katniss would be for the post, because her sister has always been amazing for her growing up. She bounces out of the living room, only to return a second later wearing a sheepish smile. "Follow me... She's in her bedroom, I knocked but she didn’t answered, I think she might be praying, so, it's best if you just go right in." I nod, and slowly follow Prim down the hall walking stiffly.

 

My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and soon she's stopping in front of a simple wooden door, nothing adorning it indicating this space belongs to anyone in particular.

 

I can see a door on the opposite end of the wall, it has stickers all over it, and shocking pink post-it notes in no discernible order, stick everywhere, I surmise it must be Prim's bedroom. Between the two bedroom doors there's a third one with a small sign announcing ‘Bathroom’ on it; across the bathroom, on the opposite wall, is a door wide open, showing a neatly made bed in a very orderly room, I surmise belongs to Mrs. Everdeen. I'm not sure why am I taking inventory of all this details, it's not like I'm going to use this information ever again, but still, it's a glimpse into Katniss' life, nonetheless.

 

"Don't bother knocking, she won't answer. I'll be in the kitchen doing my homework in case she asks!" After saying that, Prim glides past me with a big smile, leaving me frozen in front of Katniss' bedroom door.

 

If there ever was a terrible idea in the world, this is it!, ' _What else can I do to mess this worse?'_

 

I push my way into the room, and judging by her unassuming door, I would have never thought her bedroom would be this... Green! The walls are all covered in this wallpaper that resembles the jungle, there are plants and shoots of tall grasses and tree trunks all around the small space, I wonder if she actually likes it. She must, if she hadn't changed it already.

 

Her bed on the other hand, is covered by a simple brown comforter, neatly made and conspicuously empty. The rest of her room is clean and organized. She's got a small desk and chair on a corner, a small door on the left side wall, I assume is her closet, and her window has a soft white curtain that allows natural light in. There are a couple of shelves with books and a spelling bee trophy, a couple of pictures of herself much, much younger next to a man with her same coloring, I suspect is her father. There are no mirrors in this room. Such a strange thing in a woman's bedroom, but I guess Katniss is the very weird breed that doesn't slave over her physical appearance. There’s a nail on the wall though, I manage to count twenty rosaries hanging from it, but I'm no where near done counting them when I give up.

 

I step more fully into the room, still sweeping my eyes around the tiny space, but it's perfectly clear that there's no beautiful rain forest pixy here. I am about turn around and go tell Prim her sister is not in her bedroom, when I hear a ragged intake of breath behind me. I wipe around faster than I should, but sure enough, there she stands looking every bit terrified as the last time I saw her.

 

I'm not sure where did she just come from, but my eyes can't help but to roam all over her body. I pray very hard, that she doesn't notice my lecherous appraising of her, because I have never seen her like this before.

 

She's wearing what I think is her nightclothes, a baseball shirt that barely reaches her thighs, with short sleeves and a number 13 crossed out on the front. Her hair is down and out of her trademark braid. And, _dear Lord_ , I think I'm gonna faint! She isn't wearing a bra under her shirt.

 

"God, you are beautiful!" My words are barely above a whisper that leave my mouth without consent.

 

Her eyes go even wider at that, "F-father Mellark," She gasps, "The Lord's Name. You just- you used it in vain. Oh, no.” She covers her mouth with her hand, “It's even worse than I thought. I've ruined you!" Her lips tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

 

I close the gap between us in one swift motion; pulling her to me I whisper into her face, "Peeta." I close the door behind her, while she stares at me confusedly. "I told you before, call me Peeta when we are alone."

 

"I don't think is appropriate anymore. Specially, right this second!" She snaps at me, and looks down at her clothing, she tries to pull down the hem of her sleep shirt to lengthen it in vain.

 

I let my hands squeeze her shoulders once, before releasing her from my grasp.

 

"I came to apologize for the other day, but... I keep tripping over my own thoughts and actions. I am truly sorry, Katniss, please believe me. And please believe when I say that you did nothing wrong. It was all me. I couldn't control my impulses and I know I scared you, I didn't mean to."

 

"Please, don't try to take responsibility for my appalling actions. I was out of line, I was confused, I was wrong. I should have never said the things I said. I'm the one who's sorry." She says shakily.

 

I shake my head stubbornly, refusing to let her take the blame, "No! You did nothing wrong. You only said how you felt and I took advantage of the situation, I was the one who acted on his impulses, proving that fiance of yours right. I behaved like a hormonal teenager, kissing you like that. I... I feel terrible for making you run away, I should have stopped you, reassured you." I'm staring straight into her eyes, begging her to understand.

 

She steps away from me and collapses on her desk chair, in a heap of ragged breaths and eyes full of unshed tears. I'm kneeling in front of her again. Deja vu... except, she's wearing a very skimpy outfit now, and my hands are begging to caress her tantalizing thighs. All that glorious skin in display is too great a distraction, "Please don't cry, Katniss. I swear you did nothing wrong."

 

"But I did, and I feel so guilty.” She tells me seriously, “And I've been praying for forgiveness since I came home that day, and it's not fair that you waltz right back into my house, and into my bedroom, and apologize, and take the blame of my wrongdoing like its nothing. You can't do that! You can't come here to mock me with your perfection and piousness. I will surely burn in hell now."

 

"No, sweetie you won't. This is all my fault, see? I'm not perfect, or pius, I'm the biggest, most hypocritical sinner there is in all of our Lord's good Earth." I say, wiping her tears away.

 

Her grey, damped eyes finally find mine, and I take the chance to come clean before her, "In fact, I think you are the perfect one here. You are so strong and brave, while I'm a coward. I should have told you that day, but, Katniss," I take a deep breath. "All the things you listed you felt for me: the giddiness, the flurries, the anticipation, the making up reasons to see me, I feel them too, for you. So, when I kissed you, I did because I had wanted it for so long, I couldn't help myself. It was all my doing, not because you somehow made it happen."

 

Her eyes are unwavering stuck on mine, she hasn't even blink yet, I hope she believes me.

 

Then her quivering voice reaches my ears, tentatively. "You like me that way? For real?" I nod.

 

"Yeah, I've liked you that way ever since I met you a few years ago." I say softly, I'm cradling her face in both my hands.

 

"I was seventeen when you first came to Seam." She whispers.

 

Of course, I was painfully aware of her age back then, just like I'm painfully aware I'm almost a decade older than her right now, and how that age gap will never change. I breathe deeply and nod again.

 

"I know. I have never been attracted to a woman, before I met you." I tell her truthfully.

 

"But," She hesitates, "You were like, twenty five when you came here." She says as if she can't comprehend this concept.

 

“Close,” I say sheepishly, “I was actually twenty six, but yeah. I am much older than you are, and yes, you were a minor, completely out of bounds back then. I guess you still are, even as an adult, but… I can't let you go on blaming yourself thinking that you committed some terrible sin, when in reality I have been harboring this feelings as well for a very long time, and if there's any wrongdoing, is on me. I really don't want you to torture yourself with fears of going to hell, you are a very good person, Katniss. You are pure, and in my eyes, you're prefect. Everyone sins, even priests sin. We just ask our Lord to forgive us, and aid us to keep a holy life for him, and keep going. Mistakes happen, the important thing is to learn from them, and not dwell in the past." I say quietly, my thumb caressing her cheekbone softly.

 

"Mmm, Peeta? But, what if I actually lied in the confessional? That's a bad sin, isn't it?" She whispers eyes downcast, fearful even.

 

"Well, it depends on what you lied about, but we can fix that if you come to confession this week, and I'll..."

 

"I touched myself in the shower thinking of you.” She blurts out. Again.

 

I’m speechless. Again.

 

I'm sensing a pattern here.

 

“I was describing that painting of Jesus in the living room, but the whole time it was you I was picturing in the shower. I did things to myself thinking about you, and I'm not proud of it.” She gives me a fleeting stare, and then chuckles lightly, “I've always thought that the real Jesus couldn't have look as effeminate as that portrait. But it was cute to hear you so fluster and worked up about it. Jesus was a carpenter after all. He probably was as muscular, broad and hot as you are,”

 

Her eyes widen as the last sentence leaves her lips. She's beet red, and I can't restrain my chuckle. I can't stop myself from kissing her lips again either, and I sure as hell can't do much to hide the raging erection I'm sporting after hearing her confession.

 

"Oh, Katniss. Don't be ashamed. I'm flattered. More than flattered. I," I stand and pull her up with me, I snake my arms around her tiny waist and pull her flush against my body. I know this is terribly wrong of me to do, I'm bound to scar her for life, but I need her to feel how much she affects me.

 

Unsurprisingly, she gasps as she feels my hardness on her lower belly. Surprisingly, she doesn't jump off in terror. She actually shifts a little, so she can feel me more fully and stares into my face in something that resembles awe.

 

"I didn't know I could do this to you." She whispers. "I mean, it happens to Gale so often, I've started to hate being close to him. But, I’m actually surprised it happens to you too. Does it happen often?" There's curiosity clear in her eyes, mixed with apprehension.

 

I know I make a face at the mention of Gale’s name attached to the topic of rubbing erections against her. I even let go of her waist to comb back my hair in an attempt to keep my frustration in check.

 

"Very often, yes. Only with you I must add,” I answer a little too curtly. “It used to happen to me before in my sleep, randomly, with faceless women. But, ever since I met you, I've been having this, unfortunate and uncomfortable problem. Even with your teenage self, and for that I’m terribly ashamed, and I apologize profusely."

 

"Um, how do you get rid of it? In my health class it was said once, that men can get pains there if they can't... You know, get it under control." She shifts closer to me, “Gale has asked me to… do things to him, but… I really don't want to.”

 

I smile embarrassedly at her, and say softly.

 

"You don't have to do anything for anyone if you don't want to do them, sweetheart.” I take a deep breath, “I have to touch myself, to make it go away, but I will never put you in a position you're uncomfortable with, just for physical gain."

 

"Makes sense. Do you think of me when you do touch it?" She asks and her eyes are expectant.

 

I give her a searching look, deciding with trepidation to answer her truthfully. "Yeah. Every single time, and, then when I see you the next day, or at church, I feel terrible because I don't want to objectify you like that." I tell her, because I don’t want her to think she’s some kind of sexual object I reach for in my mind to get myself off. I almost missed the wistful question that follows.

 

"I can make it go away for you?"

 

Did she just offer to jack me off? Didn't she just said she doesn't want to get near Gale's poker? Why would she want my shaft instead?

 

"Only if I can return the favor someday," I respond without even realizing what I'm saying.

 

She looks at me intently. “Okay." She says with a shy nod.

 

I can't believe my ears. My heart is thumping hard in my chest, I’ve been digging my nails into my palms to keep them from going wild touching her. This is surreal.

 

"So... You'll allow it?" I choke out, asking incredulously, my eyes never leave her face.

 

She's smiles softly, "I'll allow it. Just not while Prim can walk in on us." She says and bites her lower lip as if regretting her answer.

 

"Whatever you want, Katniss. But, that means, we should find a place to see each other where we can be alone. The rectory won't be any good, what with people always stopping by, and Father Abernathy always passed out drunk in his room." She steps away from me abruptly.

 

"I think I heard the front door," She whispers. Then we hear it clear as day, Gale's voice. Her scowl makes an immediate appearance.

 

"We are supposed to be discussing catechism classes. That's why Prim let me in." I tell her in a rushed voice.

 

She gives me an exasperated look, but quickly slips into bed under her comforter, which I see now, has a texture to it, like tree bark.

 

Smiling at this detail I tell her quietly, "I like your jungle theme room!"

 

She smiles. "Thank you. My father and I decorated it like this together when I was ten. I always wanted to go to the rain forest. He promised me he would take me there when I was older. As it usually happens for me, that didn't work out." There's sadness in her voice.

 

I lean over quickly and kiss her lips softly, I have to provide her some comfort. When I pull back, she sighs, her eyes are close and there’s a small smile curling her lips.

 

"Pass me that notebook over there," she says with a brighter smile when she opens her eyes, she points at the desk, and I hand her the book. I sit on the desk chair, facing her. It surprises me how quickly we have a cover working together, after such a sexually charge exchange mere seconds ago, she has the notebook open to a random page, and a pen that had been inside the book poised to write something down.

 

"So, should we come up with a tentative schedule for this right now, or should we wait to brainstorm tomorrow, when I come to work?" She says all business like.

 

I frown for a moment. I'm confused at what she's referring to, but luckily my response is harmless enough. "I'm not sure if that would be such a great idea, as I said, Father Abernathy won't be any help while he's drunk in his bedroom."

 

"Well, we need to find a way to get him to cooperate if we are to start..." The door opens brusquely, not even a knock, but Katniss seems unfazed by this as she finishes her sentence, "assembling a group for catechism soon. And we also need to see what resources we have. Oh, hi, Gale!” She looks up to face a disgruntled Gale standing behind me, I turn around around to see him as well.

 

She continues as if this is the most natural occurrence in the world, “Come on in, darling. Father Mellark came on behalf of Father Abernathy to see me and make sure I was healthy enough to start teaching a girls’ class, this upcoming week. Luckily, I feel so much better today, I think I might be able to return to work tomorrow." She gives him a too bright smile when he barges into the room followed by a wide-eyed Prim.

 

I can't believe she's blatantly lying for me!

 

She didn't necessarily have to, but my heart flutters in my chest at her words. Taking a catechism class, means she'll be forced to spend more time with me, and maybe that's why she’s dropping Haymitch's name in as well. She didn't want Gale to know she will spend even more time around me when he specifically asked her to stay away from me. This is so unbelievably wrong, but I can't help the joy I feel at the prospect.

 

Gale's face hardens, and not too nicely asks me to step outside the room; Katniss protests, saying that we have just started talking about substantial planning, which is not really a lie. Prim looks like she's about to cry for some reason. And I slowly stand up, sensing my welcome has worn off for the moment. I don’t want to cause the Everdeen girls any discomfort if I can avoid it. "It's alright, Miss Everdeen. You can take an extra day off just in case, and we will resume our chat next week. It was nice seeing you, Mr. Hawthorne." Gale doesn’t respond but narrows his eyes in distrust.

 

I start making my way out of the room, then Prim clings to my sleeve. "I'll escort you out, Father." She says with a small voice I really don't like at all. I smile all the same, if only to reassure her.

 

"That would be great, miss Primrose, thank you!" I'm almost in the hallway, when Katniss's voice calls me back.

 

"Father Mellark," I poke my head around her door frame with a questioning look, "I can't wait to start on what we discussed earlier, thank you for answering all my questions." She says looking straight into my eyes, her determination clearly portrayed in her gaze.

 

I finally let sink in what I had gotten her and myself into, and a fear older than time overwhelms me. I can't let this progress from here. I will stop it. Tomorrow, or next week. When she comes back to the rectory I will call this nonsense off.

 

But the road to hell has always been paved with good intentions. I should have known better, by now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How do you manage to break a metal goblet?" I screech at Haymitch, who’s standing nonchalantly just outside the sacristy, yawning with disinterest. "This is so typical of you! I can't even begin to inventory all of the damage in this room!" I look at him with my mouth hanging open at the sheer destruction he caused in such a small space.

 

Last night, Haymitch was so wasted, he came into the chapel to 'talk with the Saints', I'm not sure what did he meant by that, but the truth is, he decided that for his talk, he would offer communion wine to the 'saints' or angels or whoever it was he was conversing with; he figured that's what a good host would do. Somehow he fell on his face, breaking the bottle of communion wine, which in reality is just grape juice with zero alcohol in it. He passed out right there and only woke up recently to drag me here in hopes I could help him straighten out the mess.

 

Of course the juice spilled all over our white robes, the ones embroidered with gold accents we save for special occasions and other official vestments like our matching Christmas stoles and and ancient tapestry of the Last Super specially made and sent to this Church as a gift from the Vatican, all the furnishings used for storing other priceless objects and utensils use during mass; everything was covered by a thin layer of sticky grape juice. The clothing was stained. So where the drapes lining the room, an antique table we keep the Sacred Bible was blessedly spared the slaughter, most other important books and records we keep under lock and key in the Sacristy were protected, but one unlucky communion goblet seemed to have gotten the weight of the whole room on it, it lay at the very bottom of the floor, dented in so many places it had lost it's original shape, and when I picked it up, I saw it actually had a long crack from the lip to the bottom of the cup. I was just dumbfounded by the mess I was seeing.

 

Katniss chooses that moment to show up, "Father Mellark?" Gasp, "Oh dear!" Another gasp.

 

Without saying anything else, she kneels on the cold granite floors, and starts picking up shards of broken bottle. I react impulsively, grabbing her by the arms, and effortlessly rising her to her feet; I shouldn't have done it, she gives me an angry look, spitting that it's her job to clean up after me, as if I was the one who caused the mess in the first place. Needless to say, I release her arms as if the soft material of her cardigan was doused in acid.

 

"Thank you, Sweetheart! You are such a help! They should pay you more for your services! As a matter of fact, Father Mellark will help you clean up in here, then he's going to take you back to the apartment and fix you a nice 'thank you' lunch! Isn't it right Father Mellark?"

 

Haymitch is clearly still under the effects of alcoholic fumes, because he cannot really be serious about this, and blaming me for the mess, and insinuating that I was an ingrate? I really wanted to yell at him, but he is the Senior clergyman in the parish, so I hold my tongue.

 

Katniss and I work seamlessly for a while until everything is back in order and wiped down and the stained linens have been set aside to take to the dry cleaners.

 

“Thank you for your help, Katniss. Father Abernathy is right. We should pay you more for having to deal with him,” I chuckle turning to face her.

 

“It's my pleasure,” she says in the most alluring voice I've ever heard. "I'll pick up after hurrycan Haymitch gladly, if I get paid in cheese buns from your kitchen," 

 

My eyes roam over her form of their own volition. Watching Katniss one of cheese buns for the first was a spiritual experience on itself, the way she moaned her approval will forever be branded in my mind. But then again, everyday I spend with her I'll treasure forever. Today she's wearing a powder blue dress that buttons up at the front and ties in a bow at the waist and the hem comes down to mid calf, it's a vintage piece that in any other girl her age would look outdated and a fashion crime, on her, I looks classy, timeless, even sweet.  The fine hair around her hairline and the base of her neck curl with perspiration, where small wisps have escaped her tightly woven braid. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion, I have half a mind to pull her to me and kiss her right here, right now, instead I lick my lips trying to calm the urge to taste her sweet mouth in this holy place.

 

“Don't let Abernathy hear you say that, Katniss. He’ll drink the rubbing alcohol on the first aid room, and cause terrible damage to our equipment there, where will we be then?” I take a step closer to her.

 

“Hmm, you'll be cleaning that mess on your own, sir. You won't ever pay enough to get into a medical supplies Father Abernathy has broken while wetting his whiskers,”

 

“We’ll see… How about that generous offer he made of lunch?” I’m about to bring my hand up to caress her face when someone clears their throat at the door.

 

I see red, when before me, standing under my effing sacristy door, stands an almost jubilant Gale Hawthorne, looking smug and pleased like a cat who just caught a mouse.

 

“Morning, Father!” He says jovially, as if he has always been this nice. “I hope you don't mind, but I'm here to tell my wife, that after my dad talked to some people in all the right places, I've been granted a position in The Panem Post as junior corresponsal. I'm here to take her to my celebratory brunch with my folks and some friends from journalism school,” his smile is too shiny. Too big. Too… much.

 

“Gale, I'm not your wife, we're not married yet!” Katniss protests, “I mean, I'm happy for you, but I'm working right now. I can't just abandon my job any old time you swing by. Can we celebrate your new job later, when I'm off?” She asks with a mix of embarrassment, anger and fear.

 

“Oh! It's fine, Catnip. You do your thing, very soon you won't be working cleaning other men’s messes but mine!” He leans down and makes a production of kissing her in front of me, marking his territory.

 

I'm back to my initial weariness of Katniss’ flirtations. She will never be mine, and she's all Gale’s. Except, she shoves him off harshly.

 

Embarrassment and anger coloring her cheeks like a sunburned lobster. “Gale! This is a Holy place of worship! You can't do that!”

 

Gale smiles, “You will legally be my wife soon enough, and no one will be able to tell me what to do or not do with you. Not even yourself. See you at 7 sharp, Catnip. Wear that pretty dress I got you last month. I want to you show you off!” He's gone before she can speak.

 

I'm mute too, but my reaction is so much more unexpected by her, that I see the hurt in her eyes. I spare her a glance, nod curtly, and power walk out of the sacristy, like I can't stand being with her any longer.

 

I truly can't. Not when she belongs to someone else and there really isn't anything I can do to fix it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Someone knocks insistently on our door. It's a little passed 10:30 pm, and Haymitch is already out cold in his room.

 

I make my way to the sitting room, pulling a sweater over my head, since I was already in my sleeping clothes.

 

I open the door a little to see who's calling this late at night, and I'm momentarily speechless when I see Katniss standing on my door, wearing a very short, light yellow dress, that accentuates all her curves in the right places and reflects light every time she moves, like candlelight is emanating from her. Her hair is in a bun instead of her usual braid, and she's hugging herself tightly, as if fending off cold. There's no matching cardigan covering her arms this time, so quick as a flash, I tear off my sweater from my body and wrap the sleeves around her shoulders. I suspect the no cardigan was Gale's doing, and knowing her, she was probably uncomfortable and miserable every second her skin was exposed.

 

“I broke up with Gale!” She hiccups out before dissolving into sobs.

 

I pull her inside the house immediately, “What, why, when?” I ask her nervously looking her over.

 

Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, her nose is stuffy and red as well, her lips quiver pitifully, she's still shaking like a leaf. I open my arms to her and she marches right into my embrace, burying her head into my chest, still sobbing quietly.

 

“I wanna go home,” she whines against my thin pajama shirt she keeps bunching and unbunching in her fist.

 

I'm not gonna argue with her. I rub my hands down her back before guiding her to the door, and towards home.

 

I decide the night is warm enough to walk, so we do. I hope she gets a chance to compose herself before we reach her house. We’ll figure out what to tell her family once we’re there. But when we arrive to her place, everything is dark and silent.

 

“Where's everybody?” I ask puzzled.

 

“Mother is working all night, and Prim went to Rue's for a sleepover,” she tells me wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

 

She turns on a lamp on side table, and we shuffle quietly deeper into the house. My heart picks up speed, realizing we are utterly alone in this place, and what's more, she's newly single.

 

During our walk, she told me the gory details of their breakup, in clinical descriptions. They were at Gale’s parents’ house for the evening, he was boasting about the last piece the local paper was running for him before going away, and it turns out it was an article detailing Haymitch's drinking habits and blunders. Between screams, threats and negotiations she forbade him to run the story, but he refused to pull it off, simply stating the people deserved to know what kind of wrecks they had as pastors of their churches. Then he went as far as to thank her for her help, since some of the dirt he was about to air out came straight from her mouth as he overheard her complaint about having to clean up the drunken messes.

 

She was livid of course. If he cited her as a source, the people of town would never leave her live in peace. A scandal like that would be the end of her family's good name, to which Gale simply waved off by reminding her she'd be leaving town with him in a few short weeks. That's when she called it quits.

 

She rather stay in Seam, with her mother and sister weathering the gossip mills and their nasty judgement, than abandon them to their fate. Once he told her he was still running the story whether with or without her approval she told him he just tossed her to the wolves, and she wanted nothing to do him anymore, ripped off her finger the gaudy engagement ring he gave her, and stormed out of his place without sparing a goodbye to his family.

 

The whole time, I felt my anger rise and simmer. I wish I could beat Gale for all his mean spirited actions first towards Haymitch and then using his own fiancée to further his career without any consideration for her reputation and good standing in this town. He's always used her insecurities and fears to manipulate her. I was very proud of her for dumping his ass, and I told her as much.

 

I know, on her side, there's not much of a chance for them to get back together. Not after this betrayal. But I'm not very confident Hawthorne would go away quietly. I'm scared for her. Scared of what dirt he could have on her to bury her even worse than her mother. I'm frantically praying he's got nothing on her, and he actually loved her enough to do the gentlemanly thing and walk away without dragging her through the mud. I guess tomorrow we will know. For now, it's time to leave her be.

 

“Alright, Katniss, I delivered you safely to your abode. Now it's time for me to return to mine.” I smile at her softly.

 

“Or you could stay,” she says peering up at me with those bloodshot eyes of hers.

 

I sigh, the offer is very tempting, “I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie,” I tell her while caressing her sweet face. “I don't trust myself being so close to you, alone, while you're so vulnerable,” my fingers twist a strand of hair that slipped off her bun, and I marvel at how soft it feels between my digits.

 

“Peeta, I've been ready to be with you even before I got engaged to Gale. I thought I owed him my loyalty out of friendship and gratitude, but I was wrong. Clearly he doesn't think like me. But you, you make feel safe and loved. I haven't felt like that since Daddy died. Please stay,"

 

“Katniss…” I breathe out in a halfhearted attempt of protest.

 

“Come on, then,” She says quietly when it's clear I'll do anything she wants, and pulls me by the lapels of my jacket towards her bedroom.

 

She turns off the lights as we go.

 

As the house plunges into darkness, the last sliver of resolve I had crumbles, disintegrating upon contact with her soft, pliable lips.

 

We kiss with desperation and hunger. Tongues tasting hidden places we never knew existed, fingers caressing, pressing, prying, pulling, tickling. And then skin, glorious skin, appears under my lips and palms. Zippers and buttons are undone, while teeth nip at fleshy lips, tender skin and zooming pulse points.

 

My clothes practically fly off my body, while she has to wiggle a little to shed her dress down her sculpted, delectable body. I silently thank Gale for his impeccable taste in women and in dresses, for my Katniss truly is gorgeous!

 

The only light in the dark room is the moonshine filtering from behind the gossamer curtains covering her windows. The lack of light works so much better in our favor, making her look ethereal and surreal. A vision if ever I've seen one.

 

“You are more beautiful that the Virgin,” I tell her against the soft skin of her neck, making her giggle.

 

My heart stutters. I've never heard anything as melodious as the sound of her giggle, so I brush my lips on the spot again. She only huff a tiny chuckle this time and lightly paws a chiding hand against my bicep, before kissing me fully on the lips. We tumble down the bed, and I'm rewarded with a tiny giggle once more. My hands have been good so far, only sliding up and down her arms and back, staying on chaste, safe places. My lips venture to her shoulder, until they encounter the strap of her bra.

 

She giggles again when my hand splays on her side, my fingers running up and down her ribcage as it were the strings of a guitar. She finally pulls one of my hands and brings it up to her breast, I see her face clearly by the light of the full moon. Her eyes are happy, inviting and sure. I squeeze her breast in my hand and she moans closing her eyes.

 

“Peeta,” she breathes out softly, “Would you regret this in me in the morning?”

 

“Never!” I tell her without reservations.

 

“Umm… You say I'm prettier than the Virgin. Do you think my family will notice I'm not a virgin myself when they see me?” Her voice shakes a little.

 

“If I'm gentle enough tonight, you will only have minor discomfort tomorrow. Nobody should notice a change. But just so you know,” I push of the bed so I'm hovering over her torso and face, “We don't have to do anything if you are nervous. I'm happy just staying as we are.” I kiss her lips tenderly, and pull away a little, but her arms go around my neck, trapping me on top of her.

 

“But this would have happened anyway, Peeta. It's you I've always wanted to give myself to. Please… make me yours,”

 

“If you're sure,”

 

“I am!” Her dainty, little hand snakes down my chest, over my abdomen and slides with a flourish into my underpants.

 

Her fingers thump my engorged member clumsily, but my cock doesn't care. It likes her touch, craves it and worships it. I groan when finally she gets a hold of it in her fist. My eyes roll back into my skull, and I swear I'm going to cum in my underwear if she doesn't stop this instant.

 

As gently as I can, I pull her warm, slender hand from my aching dick. Before she has any time to second guess herself, or feel rejected. I pin her arms above her head, and tell her in the most ragged voice I've ever heard, “If you keep that up, I'll embarrass myself, and this will be over before it even begins,” she only looks confused for a second, “let me start, then you can have your turn. Deal?”

 

“Okay,” she agrees.

 

I kiss her, and while my tongue is exploring the skin covering her throat, my fingers slide the strap of her bra down her arms. I pull one breast out of the simple cotton cup, and nuzzled it with my nose, before kissing it all over. I do the same on the other side, while my hand plays with the already exposed breast. I roll her nipples between my fingers, loving the noises she's making. On instinct, my mouth latches to one of her orbs, and she arches into me with a loud moan.

 

Her breasts are small, soft and perky. I love them to death. What started as tiny kisses grow into nips and rough sucks, pinching and slightly pulling, egged on by her groans and moans and choked up noises. My right hand trails down her flat tummy, slipping under the soft cotton of her underwear. There's a small amount of soft, short hair there, curly and downy to the touch. It piques my interest, and before I can think of what I'm doing, I find myself curled around her lower body, exploring her secret places with trembling fingers and harsh breaths.

 

She sits up, and discards her bra in one swift motion, then lays back down, to lift her hips from the bed, aiding me in my attempt to rid her of her underwear. My fingers skittle between her legs, and to my surprise, she throws her thighs wide open for me. I place a kiss on the very top of her womanhood, where the curly hair starts to thicken. Then kiss each of her inner thighs, and return up her sternum. My fingers stay coiling and uncoiling in quickly dampening pubes, until the middle one happens to fall in the crease of her folds and drag along the slit. She hisses and buck her hips against my hand. I repeat the motion and she reacts the same way, only this time, she pushes my hand lower with her own, guiding me around her pleasure, teaching me what she likes.

 

Something is evidently clear, Katniss does not like to be teased, so my finger makes a slow descent into her depths.

 

She's so warm and wet, I slide right in. She's tight around my digit, which compared to her's it's about double the size. She whines and whimpers when I pull my finger in and out of her pussy, crying out loud how full she feels, how thick my finger is, and then she goes rigid under my touch. Her frantic eyes seek me,  then she asks breathily,

 

“Will it hurt when you take me?”

 

My response is to kiss her as passionately as I can, muttering reassurances into her lips and skin, while I let a second finger join the first one. I'm trying to stretch her, I explain when she throws her head back and plants her feet flat on the mattress.

 

She begs me to finger her faster, her mouth begs for mine, and I can deny her nothing. I open and close my fingers every so often, trying to really stretch her opening. The last thing I want is to hurt her when my cock takes over, and then she's panting with her head buried in the hollow of my neck, her lips and tongue tasting my skin while I get her off manually.

 

My leg coils around one of hers to keep her thighs separate, I start humping her leg involuntarily, rubbing my erection on her thigh. Her hand slips into my underwear again, but her angle is awkward when she tries to pump me in her hand. Frustrated and close, she begs me to go ahead, do it already, and I don't need to be told twice.

 

In a moment, I'm hovering above her, kissing her passionately, struggling to rid myself of my shorts, the next, I've flipped us over, so she's straddling my hips.

 

Her hair's a mess, strands flying away from her ruined bun everywhere, I kiss her again and murmur “You're so beautiful,” into her lips.

 

She smiles wanly above me, while I guide her hips down my hips and upwards. She's not quite sure of what I'm doing but she cooperates by following my movements, and then our sexes are aligned and she understands what I'm trying to do.

 

“You're in control, Katniss. You can do whatever you want. You can stop at any point you want and I'll be okay with it,” I promise kissing her temple while my head enters her opening.

 

She nods slowly, adjusting to my intrusion inside her depths, letting her weight pull her down my shaft inch by delicious inch.

 

I can see her face contorting in both pain and pleasure.

 

She's breathtaking!

 

Her moans and sighs mingle with my own, creating a melody that will forever be burned in my mind. She's tight. So tight. So wet, so warm.

 

With a final exhale of breath escaping her throat, I find myself snugly buried to hilt inside her pussy. She tumbles forward, her hands bracing on my chest break her fall. She stays still, breathing hard above me, I force myself to stay still under her as well, and keep my eyes focused on her face, that remains scrunched up for a few seconds.

 

“You're, so, big!” She breathes out slowly, adjusting to my size.

 

“I'm sorry I'm hurting you,” I tell her sincerely, caressing her cheek.

 

She leans into my touch, enjoying the tenderness of the moment, and then she moves experimentally against my groin.

 

I can't help it but respond by bucking upward. I apologize when is evident I've thrown her balance with my movement. She responds by kissing me, and sitting straighter on top of me.

 

This time her eyes are clear, open and resolute. She smiles at me, and brings her hands to her head.

 

I could've never believe she could do anything to look any more beautiful right now, her perky breasts bouncing freely above me, begging for my touch and my lips, but I'm proven wrong, when her hair falls down around her shoulders and back, like a dark veil, silky and soft. She's not beautiful, but radiant as the sun, and fucking sexier than I could have ever imagined her.

 

“By everything that's pure in this Earth, you're the most perfect thing I've ever seen, Katniss.” I mumble stupidly, smiling goofily up at her, and the words slip past my lips as easily as a breath, “I love you,”

 

She smiles shyly down at me, and moves back and forth on my dick. She feels glorious! I bring my hands to grasp her hips, to help her guide her motions. And soon we have a nice rhythm going. I keep my eyes glued to her face; her features are relaxed again, there's a slight smile on her lips and suddenly I feel the urge to nip at it. I pull her face down with a hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, she gasps at the way my cock feels against her pubic bone at this angle, and then, out of nowhere her words spill into my mouth, and they're so unexpected, I grow even harder inside her tightness.

 

“Fuck, Peeta. Your cock feels better than I dreamed of!”

 

In the blink of an eye, I've flipped us over once more. I press her body flushed against mine, her bare breasts feel incredible on my chest, and I lose no time in claiming her mouth again, before she can squeak her surprise at our new position. My hips move measuredly, trying to be mindful of her comfort, but she keens and whines and arches her back under my weight, breaking my resolve once more.

 

“If you're going to act all macho, taking control of this, then you better deliver, Peeta. Fuck me like you mean it,” the little vixen whispers in my ear, a she takes a small nibble on my lobe.

 

The heat and meaning of her words is unexpected, but does the trick, because before I know it I'm thrusting hard and fast into her, fucking her just like she commanded. Who would've thought, shy, chaste, Katniss Everdeen, the pinnacle of purity and propriety could have such a foul little mouth on her between the sheets?

 

But she's thrashing under my punishing speed, begging for release, and for my kisses, and my fingers on her breasts. I do her a better one, and suck her hardened nipple into my hungry mouth, I don't let up my pistoning hips into hers, one of my hands is tangled up in her dark tresses, pulling her head to the side, so I have free access to her neck and throat, while my other one wades down her sweat dampened skin, until I've reached the apex of her thighs. Although she's actually the first woman I've gone all the way with, I'm not ignorant of what makes the female body tick.

 

If there's one thing to be said about boys growing up in overly strict houses, is that they tend to be the most devious and manipulative motherfuckers in the world. My brothers might have been perfectly nice boys to anyone looking at them, but in their bedrooms, was another story. They were fiends with girls, blessed with boyish good looks, and angelic faces, fingers faster than a gipsy’s hand, and silver tongues that distilled honey and lies. I learned a lot about pleasing girls just by listening to their stories, and while I wasn't interested in putting my knowledge to practice then, right now, I'm straining to remember every single detail I can, to turn my Katniss into a satisfied puddle.

 

I know my knuckle finds its goal, when she screams my name in the most beautifully ragged voice I've heard. I rub her there with intent, making her fleshy clit as mine as the rest of her body. She cries out, moans and begs. She thrashes uncontrollably under my ministrations, and all the while, I keep pumping into her maintaining my fast pace the best I can.

 

She throws her head back one last time, and then her body tenses for a moment, before violent tremors take over her. Her inner walls flutter and tighten around my cock, milking my own orgasm. I can't be sure, but I think a choked up version of her name tumbles down my throat, as the same tremors that overtook her, rake down my body.

 

We both fall limply after its done.

 

She's still buried under my weight, and all I can do is throw my torso sideways, so I'm not crushing her completely.

 

The room is quiet around us. The moon is higher in the sky, it's light more insistent in muted space. And she sniffles next to my head.

 

Quicker than I think I could move, I turn to the noise, and realize she's wiping quiet tears off her eyes.

 

I panic.

 

“What's wrong, Sweetheart?” I ask her trying to swallow my bile down.

 

“Nothing,” she says in a shaky voice.

 

“Darling, you're crying!” I try to keep my voice soft as my hands smooths down her hair off her face gently. “There's clearly something the matter,” I whisper into her temple.

 

“I'm not sure why I'm crying. Everything was perfect! You were so sweet, and you love me. There's nothing wrong with us, but I still feel this overwhelming need to cry,”

 

“Hmmm,” I muse smiling a little at her, “Your body is in shock.” I deduce, “It's confused as to what it should do, so…”

 

“I cry?” She finishes the sentence for me, “well, that's stupid!” She says petulantly.

 

I chuckle and take her chin in my hand to bring her pretty, swollen lips to mine. “I do love you, and I think you are pretty perfect yourself,” I kiss her eyelids. “Sleep now, sweety. I have to go back to the rectory in a minute.”

 

“Stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” Her request is so sweet and vulnerable, there's only one answer to give.

 

“Always,”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next few weeks are a blur.

 

Gale went ahead and published his story about Haymitch's drinking issues. He was decent enough to keep Katniss' name off the article. Unfortunately for him, the story backfired on him poking holes in his credibility and causing his father's reputation to take a powerful hit. One should never underestimate the power of the church in tiny communities like Seam. The story was refuted and attacked by an official speaker from the dioceses, effectively burying Haymitch's indiscretions with the bottle.

 

Instead of getting the hero's send off Gale sought out with his damaging article, he was booed away as his car made way through the narrow streets of town.

 

The good news, is that Katniss was praised for her decision to dump Gale’s ass by every old gossip in a 50 mile radius. For the first time ever, people looked up at her in the admiration she deserved. I was proud of her!

 

She keeps working as Haymitch and mine’s housekeeper, but thanks to Prim, word quickly spreads out about her sister teaching catechism to young girls, and we have a record breaking signup for the class, she has no more choice but to start a class for real with me as her direct supervisor. Having her around so readily available has been both a curse and a blessing.

 

Things between us only get steamier as time passes.

 

She only wears dresses nowadays; modest and tasteful as they are, they're still dresses and skirts, and my hands find their way under them more often that not.

 

We find places to rendezvous everywhere we can: the rectory kitchen and pantry, the laundry room, her empty classroom in the education center; I've taken her at her desk in every conceivable position there is, I'm sure if that desk were to write a story of its experiences, it will be a pornografic one at that. We manage to sneak into her house on nights she's alone and have gloriously loud sex for hours.

 

I discover I absolutely go crazy for the taste of her juices, and insist on eating her out every chance I get. Her on the other hand, is more partial for my fingers, which fuck her multiple times a day and are now experts on making her cum in seconds when we don't have much time to waste.

 

Am I scared we will be found, and our lives would be ruined? Hell yes. Do I do anything to stop our lustful, damaging behaviour? Hell no!

 

So far we’ve managed to keep suspicions down to zero, and we can be found together at all times of the day without anyone batting an eyelash at us. But still, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

Haymitch always says: “Sinner nature will catch up to you, sooner, rather than later,”

 

A few weeks later, were faced with the first truth of that saying.

 

Katniss and I are completely alone in the rectory. The only car in the premise is gone and the door is safely locked. We are naked in my bedroom, simply enjoying the intimacy of our rare moment of privacy, caressing bare flesh languidly while we make small conversation and laugh at stupid little jokes. Her nimble fingers massage shallow grooves over my chest absentmindedly while humming a little lullaby I know is her go to happy song. Her father used to sing it for her and her sister. 

 

My window is high enough on the wall of our two story home, I'm comfortable with the drapes being drawn open. There's a magestic sunset painting the sky all shades of purple, pink and warm orange. 

 

"Look, Peeta!" She exclaims happily jumping out of the bed in exuberant nakedness. Her breast bounce freely giving my cock a twitch, "Your favorite color is painting the sky! Come see, darling!" She insists and I obey.

 

I step close behind her and wrap my arms around her slight figure, enjoying her warmth and the softness of her skin against mine. I kiss her shoulder where it connects with her neck and she sighs contendely. 

 

"Isn't it beautiful?" She asks quietly, leaning her head back on my shoulder and wrapping her own arms around mine.

 

"It certainly very pretty, but it pales in comparison with my woman's beauty!" I whisper into her ear seductibly. 

 

"Ugh! Your incorrigible!" She snorts slapping my forearm. "Enjoy the pretty colors our Lord is gifting us right now."

 

"I am..." I trail off lifting my gaze to the explosion of beauty on the horizon, the sigh deeply, because this stolen moments will never be as common and perfect for long. "I just wish I could freeze this moment, right here, and live in it forever." I say into her hair.

 

"Awww... That would be a pity." She says confusing the hell out of me, but then she's turning in my arms to face me, planting tiny kisses on my chin, she says deviously, "If we stay frozen in time, you wouldn't be able to try that thing with my ass you're too scare to ask for," her eyes are mischievous and full of intent.

 

I growl quickly tossing her over my shoulder, and throwing her back on my bed with a bounce, while she squeals something awful. Her melodic laughter fills the room, while I grab her ankles and pull her towards me forcefully, throwing her legs apart and diving head first between them. I've been hinting at my growing curiosity of something my brothers used to rave about growing up: anal sex. She's actually allowed me to play in every single one of her crevices with my tongue and quick swipes of my finger tips ghosting lightly over her tiny back orifice. 

 

She's right about me being afraid to ask for it. The words tangle in my tongue and choke up in my throat unwilling to pass my lips. I would never force into sodomy, it's against the bible. I think. 

 

As as if reading my mind, she breaths out softly, "You can do it with your fingers, you know. Just to see how it'll fell for me. It'll be just like it was the first time we made love," 

 

I look up at her face, afraid of finding a sad expression or a reproachful scowl, instead, I'm meant with a sweet, lopsided smile. 

 

"I trust you, Peeta. You can own that too if you want," 

 

I climb my way up her length, and kiss her feverishly. She licks the residue of her own juices of my lips and chin sloppily, because she loves the way she tastes on me. She drove me insane the first time I took her from behind on her classroom desk, and dropped to her knees to hungrily lap both our releases from my cock once I was done spilling my seed inside her welcoming depths. I came all over again down her throat. She swallowed every painfully pleasurab drop I gave her while moaning and touching herself.

 

"We've done some crazy hot shit together," I mumble around her lower lip I'm suckling at the moment. I let my cock slip between her folds slowly, she groans in ecstasy pulling her legs up towards her chest to force my shaft deeper inside her. 

 

"I've loved every minute of it," she pants, "if that's what's worrying you,"

 

"That's only part of it," I say cautiously, drawing back slowly, only ram back into her hard. 

 

She bows her back into my chest, with a drawn out loud moan that spurs me on into repeating the motion several times.

 

"I'm scared of what displeasure from God will bring the act of sodomy to our already fragile situation," I confess while on of my hands drags her own fro where they clutch tightly on her rises knees and pinning them above her head, before my free hand squeezes her tits roughly. 

 

"I'll take it. I'll take his wrath, if I can please you, and give you all of me. Damned be the consequences." She says between pants, gasps and moans. 

 

I still above her. 

 

She opens her glassy, lust filled eyes to search my face, while her forehead creases in worry.

 

I cup her cheek into my hand, and let go of her wrists. 

 

"I can't do that to you, sweetie. You're my whole life and your family needs you. Me on the other hand, nobody needs. It wouldn't be right to keep piling sins on you that are not your burden to bear. I won't taint you by having your asshole for my dirty urges. Not until I've proven beyond a shadow of doubt, that sodomy is not a punishable sin. I have to study it, I'll investigate it, then we will see." 

 

Her fingers dip into my hair, and my eyes close at her soft massages on my scalp. She loves my hair just as much as I love hers. 

 

"I do need you, Peeta. I need you to be whole. So, it's alright. We will do whatever you think is best. The offer will stay tucked in you shirt pocket until you've decide to... _take me up,_ on it." She winks slyly but I know she serious about what she just said.

 

She ondulates her hips upwards reminding me I'm still buried balls deep inside her, and it's time to resume our coupling before she has to get back home. 

 

I take my time rolling my hips deliberately slowly against hers. She wraps her slender, shapely legs around my tights and drags one foot all the way up and down the back of my leg in a loving caress. Her arms coil around and under my pits and shoulders, forcing our bodies tightly close. My face finds its home in the crook of her neck, while her lips kiss every patch of my skin withi h her reach. We make love silently, slowly, intensely. Only our mingle noises fill the air, and when my orgasm is imminent, I rub her clitoris in tight, hurried circles until her finger nails dig into my back, her legs squeeze my waist painfully and her mouth goes slack and silent shout dies on her lips as the tremors shake her body pressed into my mattress under my weight. Whe her walls flutter around my cock, I let go and spill freely into her. 

 

We stay knotted together like that for close to ten minutes, until I lift off of her, and carry her limp body to my in-suit bathroom. With her draped over my body like baby koala bear, I turn on the shower and slide I see when the water is running nice and warm. It's become routine for her to shower here before her catechism clases, after having cared for the rectory all day, plus cook one or two meals for us, it was only fair she had axcess to a washroom. 

 

I let her legs touch the tiles on the floor, and she leans her back on my chest for support, not ready yet to stand up on her own. I wash her body methodically, with the outmost care and reverence. Then I move to her hair, slowly finger combing her long tresses out of her ruined braid. I hardly care for my own body cleanliness, but she finally turns around, with a washcloth in her hand, she carefully wipes down my whole body.

 

I see it in her eyes, her debate wether she'll have time to kneel in front of me and suck another orgasm from my cock before she has to go, but I chuckle shaking my head, kissing the tip of her nose, effectively making the desicion for her. I don't feel bad about taking this executive desicions every time I encounter them during my time with her; if she had her way, we would fuck like bunnies all day, which makes her dangerous and even more devious than myself.

 

We finally make it to the sitting room, fully dressed and put together. I wrap my arm around her middle and kiss her cheek, "Can I take you out for dinner?" I ask her with a smile.

 

"As in a date?" She bats her lashes coyly, but her mocking tone can completely hide the longing behind the words.

 

"Well, as much a date as we can make it, without being obvious about it, yeah." I tell her seriously.

 

I'm rewarded with a blinding smile. 

 

"Then lead the way, sir! I hear Sea's new eatery serves the best mystery meat soup in all of Panem Territory!" 

 

I chuckle good naturely, kissing her lips once, and offer my arm as we walk out the rectory. 

 

I'm sure seeing a Priest wearing a full cassock while the most beautiful unattached girl in town hangs from his arm will be frown upon by everyone on Earth, yet, I can't find it in me to care. She's mine, and I will pretend I'm allow to act like a somewhat normal couple, if just for a few minutes. 

 

After all, this sweet times are bound to stop and disappear once God decides we've tested his mercy far enough. Until then, I cling to my unattainable dream of a life with the woman I love.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Haymitch goes for a physical check up. A routinely procedure. He complains of pains and whatnot, they do an X-Ray because it's an easy way to overcharge the health insurance.

 

They discover the beginnings of cirrhosis of the liver.

 

Haymitch deteriorates at a frightening speed after a confirming diagnostic, as if he was handed a life sentence with his medical chart.

 

Katniss is very emotional. She cries and tends to Haymitch like he's her own father. Gone are the days they bicker about inconsequential stuff; now there's only soft words and gratitude exchanged between them.

 

Out of respect, and because we think we might find God's ears more willing to hear our prayers if we stay chaste, we stop having crazy sex cold turkey. When we finally do get together, our joining is slow and meaningful. Neither wanting to rush the moment, since life is short and deserves savoring.

 

It's also a surprise to discover my Katniss is a nervous eater, but then again this whole deal with Haymitch has brought forth coping mechanisms we ignored we had; for example, I find myself baking breads and kneading dough when I haven't done in years. Its therapeutic for me, and added to the bonus that Katniss seems to devour every morsel of the goods I bake, I consider it a win-win situation. One night I bake so many pies, she takes all to the street where the few homeless in town reunite, and passes them all out, shrugging a shoulder.

 

"What?" She asks when I peer at her smirking, "It's not like I could eat another piece of blueberry pie. Ugh! Just thinking about makes me queasy!" She shudders and it takes all my will power not to hug and kisser like I want to.

 

She's very partial for cheese buns, so I make a batch of those daily. It's not surprise she starts putting on weight. I think it suits her, the rosier, rounder cheeks and the softer curves, the expansion of her breasts that now fill her tops and cardigans snuggly.

 

She gets self conscious about her cleavage. I love it, but I encourage her to get a new pair of sweaters that fit loosely, so she's more comfortable. She cries because apparently with my helpful comment, I'm hinting that I think she's fat! This is the woman who doesn't own a single mirror! How in the world will my suggesting she buys more comfortable clothes translate into I think she's fat? And why would she care about her looks now, when she has never given it a thought before?

 

A few days later she catches a stomach bug that sends her running for the restroom every hour of the day. She's become familiar with our tile floors around the toilet, and I've become familiar with her wretched sobs after a violent round of puking.

 

I try to console her, but on the afternoon she actually falls asleep on my leg, curled up into a ball on the cold bathroom floor while I rub soothing circles on her back after vomiting her lungs out, I decide it's time for her to go home and rest. I carry her bridal style and set her in my car. I don't think we'll go very far on foot today.

 

I'm overjoyed to see her mother is home when I drop her off.

 

I half drag her, half carry her up her driveway, but once it's clear she's in no shape to climb the steps to the porch, I pick her up in my arms again. She nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck and sighs happily.

 

“I love too, Peeta,” she whispers drunkenly into my neck, causing a shiver to run all the way up my spine.

 

It's the very first time she says the words openly at me.

 

I look down at her to make sure she's lucid and not having some kind of sick episode, but her sunken in eyes are open and staring directly at me. I smile down at her, while juggling her weight on one arm so I can knock on the door with the other one.

 

“That's good to hear, sweetie. I love you more than words can convey.” I kiss her forehead, and she closes her eyes, leaning her head back onto my chest where she breathes deeply.

 

"You smell good, babe," she tells me, which tickles me a bit, since she's never called me by a pet name before. "Like cinnamon, dill and flour. I think I can get used to this smell," she presses her nose to my neck and her head lolls back to my chest just in time.

 

Mrs. Everdeen opens the door squinting into the afternoon sunlight. She's a mix of both her daughters: petite, almond shaped eyes, a thin, pretty face, but she's more fragile looking than either Katniss or Prim, and she's even more closed off and skittish than Katniss.

 

Her blue eyes however, are every bit as inquisitive as her daughters’ are. She zeroes in on her child as soon as she opens the door, and wordlessly orders me inside.

 

With an ease of having navigated this house while under cover of night, I walk Katniss straight to the couch, Jesus’ painting glaring down at us.

 

“What happened?” Mrs. Everdeen asks bluntly.

 

“She was vomiting too much, I think she might've fainted a while back,” I tell her thinking about her slurred speech at the door.

 

“Oh, Katniss,” she sighs, sitting on the coffee table where she looks like a porcelain doll meant to be on that exact spot. She pats her daughter’s hand and says in a chiding tone, “You need to call Gale, dear, the sooner the better,”

 

“What would I call Gale for?” Katniss asks crossing her arms over her chest, clearly showing she feels more like herself now.

 

“Honey, it's obvious what's happening to you, and you need to confront him with this news,” her mother says shaking her head, pulling her hands away.

 

“Um, I'm sorry for interrupting, but, what exactly is obviously going on with Kat… Miss Everdeen?” I ask unable to keep quiet.

 

Mrs. Everdeen gives me a tired look, sighs and then says rubbing her forehead. “She's pregnant,”

 

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I stumble backwards until the backs of my legs meet the edge of a chair. I plop down fighting for air. I chance a look in Katniss’ direction expecting to find her eyes wide with the surprise of this unsettling revelation, instead her face is hardened, her jaw locked and her eyes coldly pinned to a point on the horizon only she can see.

 

“Katniss?” My voice begs weakly, completely forgetting her mother is in the room as well.

 

“I'm not calling Gale about this, and that's final!” She spats ignoring me.

 

“Why?” Her mother inquires angrily.

 

“Because it's not his!” She answers with venom.

 

“Who then? Somebody has to be made responsible for this baby!” Mrs Everdeen rises her voice and arms in unison, chastising her daughter.

 

I shrink in my seat, my knuckles turn white for the exertion it takes to hold on to the wood under my palms.

 

Katniss’ fiery eyes turn to her mother defiantly, “He’s married, and won't be throwing away his reputation for me, since I've decided I'm aborting,” she says like a little brat.

 

“The hell you will!” I practically scream at her, making her and her mother jump in place. Remembering myself, I take a deep breath, and calmly say, “According to our church, abortion is a punishable sin, Katniss. You know this better than anyone. Plus is not your call to make, whether the father decides to throw his life away for you, but his. You have to give him the choice to be there for you, before you take a rash action,” I'm staring straight at her, anger, fear and impotence swirling in my chest, that she would get rid of my child without even talking to me about it.

 

“You can't tell me what to do, Peeta! This is my choice. I'm not having a kid in this town, where people will bully him or her for how it was conceived. You think they treat me bad? Wait until they hear who the father of this child is! I won't do it. I won't bring a baby to this world to suffer shame and pain worse than me. This kid will never have his daddy in his life, because daddy can't be. There's nothing you can do or say to change my mind,”

 

“Katniss, it's murder at the eyes of God,” I say appealing to her devoted side.

 

“ _Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints,”_ she replies back shrugging a shoulder, I hate it when she quotes the Bible to make her points. “Babies are the only saints left in this earth. God will love mine more than anyone.”

 

“Katniss, please. Be reasonable,”

 

“What do you suggest?” She hisses.

 

“Get out of District Twelve! You're a brilliant woman. Prim can attend med school in Capitol City, go there! I'm sure your mother can get any job she wants at the many hospitals there, with all her credentials and experience. You can start over, you can give that baby a good life, and I'll be here, knowing that you are all safe and sound.” I plead with her.

 

I think I've made a good argument, when Mrs. Everdeen reaches a hand to grab her daughter's who's now silently crying, and says “We can do it, baby. We can leave all this behind. The only reason I stayed was because your father's body is buried here. But now I see all the hurt being in this place has caused you. I don't want you to keep going through it alone. I'm here for you, sweetheart, and I'll be here for my grandchild as well.”

 

Katniss stands up, wiping her face. “I'm sorry mother, but my mind is made. The father won't lose his good name for me, and I won't run away like a coward. I've already made an appointment with a clinic.”

 

“I forbid it!” I say leaping to my feet and grabbing her wrist forcefully.

 

“You can't forbid me anything, you're not my father!”

 

“But I am THE father, and I say you need to think better of it,”

 

She doesn't say anything in response, only shakes my hold off of her and stomps away, slamming her bedroom door behind her with finality.

 

Mrs. Everdeen sighs quietly behind me.

 

I turn around and find her sitting on the same spot on the coffee table, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes looking at her shoes.

 

“She's right, you know,” She tells me sadly. “Until you step up and claim your family, you're not a father, even if it's half you genetic material in my daughter's womb.”

 

I look at her, impressed she's deduced the truth, yet not surprised at all, since I'm sure the exchanged between Katniss and myself was pretty damned obvious. I slump back on the couch and stare at her until her eyes find me.

 

“Of course I want to be there for her. But if she takes the choice off my hands, how am I supposed to show her I'm really in this wholeheartedly?”

 

“Father Mellark, I can't tell you what to do. I don't have the answers, nor am I very happy with either of you right now. You, as a priest should be closer to the one that does have answers for life difficult questions,” She points to the portrait behind me. By now it feels like an inside joke, between Jesus, the Everdeen's and I. “Talk to him, I'm sure he'll have plenty to say to you.”

 

“I'm scared of what he'll say,” I confess shamefully.

 

“You wouldn't be human if you weren't. Now go make peace with Him, I'll keep an eye on her until you're ready to make a decision.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” I say quietly at Haymitch's door.

 

“Boy. You look like hell,” he says caustically.

 

I laugh mirthlessly at that. “You'd look better yourself,”

 

He waves away my comment, and invites me in after a round of coughs. He goes straight to the chase, because why would I get a reprieve now that all my fears have pile up on my chest.

 

“So, how's Sweetheart?”

 

“Pregnant,” I answer flatly.

 

He whistles long and low. “So, you finally went and shit on you food bowl, huh?” He says and shakes his head ruefully at me. "Ever heard of rubbers? People have been using some sort of condom since the 1800's, you know. I know their use is not very kosher with Holy Mother Church, but you're already breaking the no sex rule, what's another stripe to a tiger?" 

 

I glare at him before sighing, scrubbing my hands harshly on my face. I'm ready for this shitty day to be over.

 

“So, what are you going to do now?” He asks, lifting a silver flask he has hidden under his pillow.

 

I reach for it, to take it from him, but he slaps my hand away and stares at me with a warning to let him be, so I just sink back in my chair and watch him take a pull from the poison killing him.

 

“I don't know what to do. Or rather, I actually do know what I want to do, I just don't know how to go around doing it,” I say lost in thoughts.

 

“Ahh!” He says wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “That, I can help you with. Just do whatever the hell you want to do, and run with the consequences.”

 

“I'll be excommunicated,” I point out.

 

“You'll be saving your soul, idiot. Plus, Catholicism isn't the only religion in the world, Boy. Look at them Protestants, they have _Grace_ on their side, something we sorely lack,”

 

“Why are you a catholic priest then?” I ask annoyedly.

 

“The refreshments used to be better,” he says raising his flask in my direction.

 

I roll my eyes, “You are against marriage,”

 

“It work for Martin Luther. And any man who's girl got killed in her honeymoon to the guy’s brother, will be against marriage as well.” He says taking another swig of his liquor. That little tidbit of a comment actually explains so much about Haymitch though. “All I'm saying, you paid your dues, you served the Big Guy up there, maybe he's trying to tell you you aren't cut to be celibate, which is a gross understatement given the circumstances. The proverb says:  _Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD._ But, I leave it to you to decide, Boy. That Sweetheart is a good girl for sure though, you may do well to put on your big boy pants and go after the good thing the Lord has for you."

 

 

“I blame you, you know,” I say finally taking the flask from him and taking a sip myself. I spit it out as soon as it touches my tongue. “Ugh! What the hell is this? It's awful!”

 

Haymitch cackles, “Grapefruit juice, genius!” He wipes tears of laughter off his eyes, and then turns to me, smiling, “So you blame for knocking Sweetheart up? I thought it was all your assgrabery with the girl that got you there,” he laughs again at my glare.

 

“You were supposed to look after us, keep us honest, and all that jazz,”

 

“Meh. I told you then, and I tell you know. You're a grown ass man, you shouldn't need a babysitter to make sure little Peeta is under control. My question is, what did you think it’ll happened once you started sleeping around with that girl without any precautions. I thought you were smarter than that… Obviously I was wrong.” He takes his godawful juice and takes a deep drink from it.

 

“Yeah, not my proudest moment,” I agree with my old friend. "I guess we weren't thinking,"

 

"Obviously." He sighs, “Peeta, if you truly want my advice, just know that God is a good Father. Forgiving and loving, no matter how bad you've screw up. He won't judge you harshly, if you truly are contrite of your sins, but this requires an action from you, and I think we both know what that action is. Don't keep torturing yourself, son. Go love the girl of your dreams. Marry her, get a new religion if this one cuts you off. God is the same everywhere, it's us who make the rules.”

 

I nod my understanding, “Thank you, Haymitch. You've been a great mentor.”

 

“Well, yeah! I'm the smartest man around this shit. I would've made sure to keep a stash of condoms handy. Now get. There are things you need to straighten out before I send in my letter requesting a new set of priests to replace us.”

 

I clap him on the shoulder, and head to the empty chapel of my church. I'm finally going to face my boss, and I'm scared shitless.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Father Mellark,” Greets Mrs Everdeen.

 

“Peeta, please. Given the reasons I've come seeking an audience with you, it's only fair you call me by my first name.” I swallow thickly. The roof of my mouth feels like sandpaper.

 

“Well, I'm glad you came. Katniss is getting ready to head out to the clinic, and nothing I tell her has any effect. I've gone as far as writing my letter of resignation, and looking into putting together my resume for a job hunt, but she won't budge.”

 

I groan audibly, stepping inside the house. “Katniss?” I call out for her.

 

She steps into the living room, chirpily. “Father Mellark! So good to see you!” She sashays around me with a spring in her step. “Care for some tea?” She asks brightly. “We can have a little talk in the kitchen, like we used to. What do you say?”

 

“As long as we talk,” I say a little confused by her sunny attitude.

 

Her mother only gives me a helpless grimace, and we step into the kitchen alone.

 

Katniss makes small conversation while setting kettles to boil, and puts a small tray with a tea service on the table for us to share. She's been very carefree and happy, which a month ago would have been only puzzling but now is downright troublesome.

 

When the tea is finally served, she urges me to drink it, claiming it to be a new blend she recently found. She makes a cup for her mother as well, and takes it to her bedroom. While she's gone I sip the beverage, thinking it strange she's made it so sweet, knowing I don't ever take sugar in mine.

 

She sits across from me, smiling brightly. “So, what did you like to talk to me about?” She asks innocently.

 

I blink a few times, momentarily sluggish. “I… Well… You know what.” I spat in annoyance, “You can't abort my baby, Katniss. Is not fair. She's a person, and I love her already,”

 

She rolls her eyes, “It's not your call, Peeta. I'm going, and you can't stop me,” she takes a sip of her tea.

 

She's infuriating, “No, I decided we are getting the hell out of this place, we are raising our baby together. I will spoil her rotten, and you'll teach her to sing. Your mother and Prim will be there, and we might go meet my family, when my mother dies.” Everything around me swirls dangerously. I'm getting sick to my stomach. I stand up, and my feet give out. “What the fuck?” I ask before landing on the floor on my back.

 

“Father Mellark!” I heard a voice in the distance, “Sleep syrup, in the tea!” I think it's Mrs. Everdeen.

 

I look at Katniss who steps out of her chair, and crouches next to me. My eyes narrow in accusation, “What did you do, Katniss?”

 

“It's for your own good. You won't throw away your life for me.” She combs my hair back, “I love you both too much to subject either of you to a life of regret and sadness. I'm sorry, Peeta. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I won't ruin your life.”

 

“It's not your call,” I try throw back at her her own words, but they end up sounding like a plea. "Don't do this, Katniss. We can be a family. Give us a chance," but I'm pulled under a blanket of darkness. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Alrighty! That's it. Easy does it,”

 

I open my eyes painfully, and find Katniss’ face hovering above mine, except she's got blue eyes, a blond ponytail and is much younger looking.

 

“Hello there, sleepyhead,” the thin, careful voice of Primrose Everdeen greets me back to reality.

 

“Katniss!” I try to sit up too quickly, and only manage to feel dizzy and nauseated.

 

“She's fine,” Prim says evenly, “It's you who needs watching out for.”

 

“Fine? I doubt it,” I say bitterly.

 

“Hmm, I guess you might be right. But, she will be fine, eventually, after we put her in a proper diet and a prenatal vitamin regime. She needs to cut back on her cheese bun intake though,” she tells me side eyeing me, as she wipes down my forehead. “All that fatty food is not good for the baby.” Her tone is matter of fact and leaves me shamed for some reason.

 

“I don't… Baby? I don't understand. She went to terminate…”

 

“Shhhhh. Easy now. Don't get agitated just yet. You'll have time to talk to her. But I have to say, I never wish to home to the same surprise of my sister bawling she 'couldn't do it' on the porch steps, while two people are knock out from sleep syrup inside the house. That truly put a scary damper on my otherwise amazing day,"

 

I nod and recline back on a pillow my head has been resting on, that wasn't there when I fell asleep. I realize there's a blanket on top of me as well.

 

“I used some salts to wake you and mom up, that's why the effects of the syrup are so nasty and heavy. It'll pass in about five minutes. Then you have my permission to go all ape on my sister. Honestly, pregnant women do the most irrational crap!”

 

After I regain my mobility, I make my way to Katniss’ room. The house is eerily quiet, although I know all Everdeen women are home. I tiptoe inside Katniss’ room, and see her sitting on her bed, a platter of veggies on her lap and a look of disgust set in her features.

 

Without looking at me, she scoots to the side, a clear invitation to take a sit. Still, I gingerly lower myself on the edge of the mattress. I've been in this bed completely naked, balls deep inside her, but for some reason it feels important to keep decorum and a respectable distance between us at this time.

 

“Prim brought me a healthy snack when I said I was hungry. She said the baby needs me to eat better.”

 

I nod once, staring at a point on the ground. She passes me a carrot stick that I mechanically chew on. A crunch reaches my ears, immediately followed by a soft sob.

 

I snap out of my daze. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?” I ask panicking.

 

“She brought me celery,” she waves the celery with a bite mark in her hand despondently, “I abhor celery!” She flops on the bed inconsolable.

 

“Awww, sweetie, you don't need to eat it if you don't like it,” I tell her in a babying tone I wasn't aware I could speak in.

 

“Yes I do! Is my punishment for drugging you and mother.”

 

“No, sweetie pie, you don't need to punish yourself for that, we forgive you.” I tell her softly, lifting her from the bed and setting her on my lap.

 

I push back her loose hair from her face, and kiss her on the lips tenderly. “What is it you're hungry for?” I ask to change the subject, since I'm still a little sore about the whole drugging me and running off to get an abortion thing. It won't do to start with that right this second, although we do need to discuss it.

 

“I want a Nutella, lettuce and avocado sandwich on a cheese bun. With strawberry jam pickles on the side,” the combination sounds revolting but her eyes are so sad and vulnerable I don't have the heart to deny her the nasty crave.

 

“I'll make you one, sweetie. I'll bring it to you even if I have to smuggle it behind Prim’s back,”

 

“And the strawberry jam with pickles?” She asks hopefully.

 

“Those too,” I promise and seal it with a soft kiss.

 

“Okay,” she says and lays her head on my shoulder.

 

“Katniss,” I ask carefully, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

She takes a deep, resigned breath. “I couldn't do it.” She says simply.

 

I let her work through her thoughts trying not to pressure an answer from her, I know that if I give her time, she'll spill all the nasty details. My patience is rewarded a minute later.

 

“I left you and mother as comfortable as I could, and then I hopped on the bus to the clinic. The whole time all I could think of was how you sounded so sure the baby’s a she, and… At one point, I just snorted at the notion out loud, because you're so wrong! It's a boy, you see,”

 

“Really?” I ask amusedly at the lightness of her voice. “And how would you know this?”

 

“I'm his mother!” She glares at me, effectively shutting me up, “Anywho. You are wrong. We are having a baby boy. He's got your hair, and your lopsided smile, but his eyes… He's got my daddy’s eyes.” The waterworks start again with a vengeance. Her face is a mess of tears and snot, even my eyes start to water. “I started thinking about my daddy’s eyes, Peeta. People say I have them, but they're wrong. I only have an imitation of his grey hue, but our baby, he's got them. Exactly the same. Those eyes that I thought were lost to me. I was about to extinguish their light before they even ignited! What kind of a person am I? So… I didn't do it. It's selfish, I know, but by golly I want to see my son’s eyes and tell you in your face, you were wrong all along.

 

“The worst part, is that I keep thinking of what you said about raising the baby together, and I want too! I know I'm calling on God’s wrath on us, but I REALLY want us to be a family. I'll stay here in town if that means you'll see your child grow up, even if he's your spitting image, and people figure it out no sooner than they see him. I'm ready to protect our child with my life, as long as we stay close together.”

 

I'm done for.

 

She's the most generous, bravest person I've ever met!

 

“Marry me,” I tell her before I can stop myself.

 

She pulls away from me. She's scowling, scrutinizing me with her intense grey eyes, that she still has no idea how much affect me.

 

“Uh, I actually came here to ask your mother for her… um, I guess is too late to ask for her blessing, but to ask for her approval? I mean, I fully intend on court you like you deserve, although is gonna have to be a very short courtship since we have the kid and all… we need to make things legal pretty quick. Um… What- what do you think?” I'm stuttering like a buffoon, my eyes can't stay put in just one place, jumping to everything and nothing just so I don't have to look at her.

 

“Are you really asking me to marry you?” She asks skeptically.

 

Finally my eyes center on hers, my forehead creases, “Yeah, I love you and my child, I want to be with you. Marrying you is one of the things I've always known I wanted to do in life. Ever since I met you." 

 

“But priests can't get married,” she says lowly, an edge of suspicion in her voice.

 

“Well, as of an hour ago, I left a letter to the Archbishop, in Haymitch's study, letting him know that I've decided my real vocation is that of being a husband and a father, and probably a baker, if everything else fails. By this time tomorrow, all my ties with the church will be severed and I'll must likely be excommunicate, so if you don't want to- you know- be associated with a hopeless sinner such as myself, I'll understand. But, if you'd find mercy in your heart for a wretch like me, then please, I beg you, marry me… I would kneel, but my lap is currently occupied with precious cargo,” I try smiling at her faintly, hoping my attempt at levity works.

 

She doesn't say anything.

 

Not does she move. I'm not sure she's even breathing.

 

“Katniss… Well, say something,” I beg.

 

She blinks and shakes her head. “I'm not good at saying something,” There's a quiver in her voice I've come to associate with tears.

 

Before I can do or say anything, she leaps off my arms, and runs out of her room like a bat out of a cave. “Moooom! Priiiim!” She screams at the top of her lungs.

 

Both women come rushing out of wherever they were and grab at her, looking her over for signs of something not right, and Katniss is crying and babbling at the same time, and Prim’s face is turning red and terrified, and there's not one fucking thing I can do to help the situation, so I stand there, watching helplessly, until Mrs. Everdeen gets fed up and shouts for everyone to shut it.

 

Silence falls in the house once more, and Mrs. Everdeen looks at Katniss pointedly, “Now, speak,” she commands softly.

 

“I'm getting married,” Katniss whispers, “And we need to get out of this town as soon as possible!”

 

At that, Prim squeals in excitement. Mrs. Everdeen breathes easier, but makes a point at looking gravely at her oldest, and me… I'm not sure what I'm feeling. My legs feel like they're made out of jello, my heart stops and restarts every so often, specially when my new fiancée smiles at me. My face feels like it's on fire. I think I'm hyperventilating. For all my crazy reactions, I still hear when Prim tries and fails to whisper a question to her sister.

 

“So, um, you're marrying… Father Mellark? Is he the daddy?”

 

“Alright Primrose, we gotta go see about Schools in Capitol City that you might want to look at,”

 

“But, mom! Katniss…”

 

“Has to talk to her husband-to-be about their future. Come now,”

 

Prim grunts her displeasure, but follows her mother to the kitchen, throwing me a little curious, mischievous glance. “Am I supposed to call you brother Mellark?” She whispers when she passes me by.

 

I laugh nervously. I wasn't expecting that. “No. Peeta will suffice."

 

“Will you live with us?”

 

“Actually…”

 

“PRIMROSE!”

 

“Coming mother!” She turns to me with a glint in her eyes, “See you later… _Peeta_ ,”

 

“Don't pay her any mind. She's just… Excited. She didn't really have a very good relationship with Gale. She actually felt that he was going to separate us permanently,” Katniss' voice is soft, still a little watery, but happy.

 

I smile at her, and she returns the gesture. I reach my hand towards her, once she's intertwine our fingers together, I pull her into my arms.

 

“I love you, Katniss.”

 

“I love you too, Peeta,”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**30 Years later…**

 

“Merry Christmas, Grandpa!” Says my little granddaughter. Same almond shaped eyes as every woman in our family.

 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart! Thank you for dragging your daddy to see us. Now don't grow so fast and come see me soon, you hear?”

 

“I will!” She laughs and runs out to catch up with her folks.

 

I'm standing leaning on the jamb of my front door watching my son’s family pile inside his car, ready to head home two hours north from Capitol City.

 

Katniss was right, but so was I.

 

Suddenly, something heavy and squishy falls on my shoulders from behind.

 

“Whoa!” I exclaim startled.

 

Little boy laughter fills my ears merrily, and I grasp behind me, holding on to my youngest grandson. The little stinker came early and gave us all a big scare, but my daughter never lost faith in her little miracle baby, she always knew he'd pull through. The kid shuts us all up with how full of energy, life and creativity he is. Never underestimate the power of a mother's prayer fervently made in the wee hours of the night.

 

“I love you, Grandpa!” He screams in my ear as soon as I've flipped him to my front.

 

“I love you too, little man! I'll see you Tuesday, okay?”

 

“Okay!” I put him down and he runs to fetch his small backpack full of toys.

 

My very pregnant daughter waddles to me, hugs me softly, and plants a loud kiss on my cheek. “Love you, pops. See you Tuesday. Don't forget to text aunt Prim about the children’s pediatrician appointments.”

 

“I won't! Say hello to Jason from us.”

 

“Tell him he missed my lamb stew again!” Says my wife coming to kiss our girl goodnight.

 

“I will. I love you guys! Dinner was yummy as always. Merry Christmas!”

 

I walk out daughter out, and help her put her two boys in their car seats. She only lives up the road, but her husband works at the airport as a supervisor for a major airline, and usually has crappy hours. He'll be home on New Years, today he got stuck with his shift.

 

I look up and see my beautiful Katniss standing on the spot I just vacated, waving goodbye at our daughter and grandsons.

 

“We did alright, won't you say?” She asks once I'm back inside, and I've closed the door behind me.

 

I smile at her, and kiss her lips quickly. “I say we did better than alright. Twin boy and girl, and then another boy, just like you said we would.”

 

“Yeah, two mini Peetas and one carbon copy Katniss." She rolls her eyes good naturely.

 

The eyes in all three of our children are swapped. While the boys are my living image, their eyes are closed to gray than blue. The girl is seeing Katniss again, except for her porcelain skin and vibrant blue eyes, the color of a warm summer sky. 

 

Katniss sighs, "I wish we could have seen the baby one." She says receding to our youngest.

 

"He'll be home soon enough.” I try to reassure her rubbing her back soothingly, "You know the life of a Doctor Without Borders, honey. He’ll never be happy if he's not serving God’s people.”

 

“True.” She stays quiet for a moment, “Have you ever thought, that if we hadn't gotten pregnant, then married, and moved here, HE would've never come to exists and all those people that need his healing hands would have never met him?” She asks sipping from her mug of tea. "All those lives he's saved along his career would've been lost," 

 

“ _Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out!”_

 

“In other words, the old ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways’?” She winks at me.

 

“Exactly! ‘ _God chose what is low and despised in the world, what is regarded as nothing, to set aside what is regarded as something’”_

 

“Amen, Father!”

 

“Oh, not at all," I say smiling at my beautiful wife of 30 years, enveloping her in my arms, "I'm just a humble, pious baker, who found mercy at the eyes of his Lord, and was blessed with a beautiful, loving family, that yielded a son with a heart for God and healer hands, who was able to serve and help others in a way his old man never could, even with all my Theological knowledge and experience. It's a wonder what God can do when the right person comes along. Truth is, our Heavenly Father ALWAYS knows better,"

 

"Always," she chimes in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> If you stuck with me and finished the story, thank you. I hope it was worth it. I know it was long and drawn out.
> 
> This story started as my response to Day 7: Thorns, of round of 7 of PIP last year. The original prompt was: Temptation/Owing. The story got away from me, and grew too complicated to finish, so I wrote something else instead, which turned out to be my Werewolf!Peeta fic which I'm a very proud of. (Shameless self promoting over!)
> 
> This fic was born of a challenge in which my best friend from High School, who loves the 'Padre Amaro' movie to pieces, told me I could never mix THG with it, since Peeta is too nice and correct... "Pure" she might say. (Eye roll) Peeta can be dark when the right author wants him to be. Me... I'm not that great at writing dark!Peeta, so I made substantial changes to the story line to fit my style and P's personality. 
> 
> *Spoiler Alert* In the original source (film in this case) the "Crime" of titules character revolves around him betraying his vows to mantain a forbidden relationship with the 17 year old main female character who's dies after a butch abortion Father Amaro demanded she got done so he could preserve his job, leaving Him the hero who tried to rescue her, but was too late to stop her, while pretending he was never involved with the poor girl at all. In the book, the girl went rabid mad and got locked away in a loony bin when her son was stillborn and the good Father turned his back on her same-wise, denying ever being involved romanticall with her. *End of Spoiler*
> 
> You're welcome! I can't see Peeta being so cruel/calloused, specially when in canon he loves and craves his children. 
> 
> The one thing you may not thank me so much about, is the amount of shameless smut I cut out of the fic. In the film, they were very graphic. I tried to keep it tasteful here, and dialed it down a lot to fit PiP better. I apologize for taking away the more lurid stuff, but I did added one bonus smutty scene. 
> 
> I took certain elements from the source materials to shape Peeta's view of his 'job', but I tried to keep him Peeta in essence. Hope I managed it. I know K is slightly out of character, but I like her like this. I took great liberties with the source material, totally deviating from it by the end.
> 
> Bible verses quoted in this work have been italiced, a list of where to find them in order of appearance:  
> Exodus 20:12.  
> Psalm 116:15  
> Proverbs 18:22  
> Romans 11:33  
> 1 Corinthians 1:28
> 
>    
> The catholic religion has a very structured set of rites, traditions and sacraments carefully observed by practicing devotees. I only cited/showed one of the sacraments: Confession, which in this story adheres to the archaic way practiced in my home country Venezuela, which is the only way I'm familiar with it. I've attended mass in the US many a times, but for cutting the length of this piece and relevance to the narrative purposes, didn't really mentioned any of the other traditional sacraments you may see regularly during a Catholic service. 
> 
> Side note about Peeta and the Jesus portrait: I totally based his reaction on my Dad's pet peeve; he was a Pastor himself, and paid his way through Seminary by selling paintings he made to support himself. He often got annoyed at paintings of Jesus were he's Caucasian, saying the image came from the Renaissance, when European Artists where commission by European patrons, that wanted to see themselves reflected in their Savior, so the artists made him more relatable (esthetically speaking) to their patrons. 
> 
> Thanks for reading... Leave me a comment below or come say hi on tumblr @alliswell21
> 
> HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y'ALL! Enjoy your Turkey and trimmings!


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